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SIR HARRY HOTSPUR 



OF 



H UMBLETH W AITE. 

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By ANTHONY TROLLOPE, 



'THE VICAR OF BULLHAMPTON," "HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT," " ORLEY FARM, 

"THE WARDEN" and " BARCHESTER TOWERS," "PHINEAS FINN," 

"THE BERTRAMS," "FRAMLEY PARSONAGE," &c. 



ILLUSTRATED. 



SOLD QY 

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NEW YORK: 
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 



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FRANKLIN SQUARE. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 187 1, by 

HARPER & BROTHERS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, 

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SIR HARRY HOTSPUR 

OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



CHAPTER I. 
SIR HARRY HOTSPUR. 

SIR HARRY HOTSPUR of Humble- 
thwaite was a mighty person in 
Cumberland, and one who well under- 
stood of what nature were the duties, and 
of what sort the magnificence, which 
his position as a great English com- 
moner required of him. He had twenty 
thousand a year derived from land. 
His forefathers had owned the same 
property in Cumberland for nearly four 
centuries, and an estate nearly as large 
in Durham for more than a century and 
a half. He had married an earl's daugh- 
ter, and had always lived among men 
and women not only of high rank, but 
also of high character. He had kept 
race-horses when he was young, as 
noblemen and gentlemen then did keep 
them, with no view to profit, calculating 
fairly their cost as a part of his annual 
outlay, and thinking that it was the 
proper thing to do for the improvement 
of horses and for the amusement of the 
people. He had been in Parliament, 
but had made no figure there, and had 
given it up. He still kept his house in 
Bruton street, and always spent a month 
or two in London. But the life that he 



led was led at Humblethwaite, and there 
he was a great man, with a great do- 
main around him — with many tenants, 
with a world of dependants, among 
whom he spent his wealth freely, saving 
little, but lavishing nothing that was not 
his own to lavish — understanding that 
his enjoyment was to come from the 
comfort and respect of others, for whose 
welfare, as he understood it, the good 
things of this world had been bestowed 
upon him. He was a proud man, with 
but few intimacies — with a few dear 
friendships which were the solace of his 
life — altogether gracious in his speech, 
if it were not for an apparent bashful- 
ness among strangers ; never assuming 
aught, deferring much to others out- 
wardly, and showing his pride chiefly 
by a certain impalpable noli me tangere, 
which just sufficed to make itself felt 
and obeyed at the first approach of any 
personal freedom. He was a hand- 
some man — if an old man near to sev- 
enty may be handsome — with gray hair, 
and bright, keen eyes, and arched eye- 
brows, with a well-cut, eagle nose, and 
a small mouth and a short, dimpled 
chin. He was under the middle height, 
but nevertheless commanded attention 
by his appearance. He wore no beard 

5 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



save a slight gray whisker, which was 
cut away before it reached his chin. He 
was strongly made, but not stout, and 
was hale and active for his age. 

Such was Sir Harry Hotspur of Hum- 
blethwaite. The account of Lady Eliz- 
abeth, his wife, may be much shorter. 
She was known — where she was known 
— simply as Sir Harry's wife. He in- 
deed was one of those men of whom it 
may be said that everything appertain- 
ing to them takes its importance from 
the fact of its being theirs. Lady Eliz- 
abeth was a good woman, a good wife 
and a good mother, and was twenty 
years younger than her husband. He 
had been forty-five years old when he 
had married her, and she, even yet, had 
not forgotten the deference which was 
due to his age. 

Two years before the time at which 
our story will begin a great sorrow, an 
absolutely crushing grief, had fallen 
upon the house of Humblethwaite. An 
only son had died just as he had reached 
his majority. When the day came on 
which all Humblethwaite and the sur- 
rounding villages were to have been 
told to rejoice and make merry because 
another man of the Hotspurs was ready 
to take the reins of the house as soon 
as his father should have been gathered 
to his fathers, the poor lad lay a-dying, 
while his mother ministered by his bed- 
side, and the baronet was told by the 
physician — who had been brought from 
London — that there was no longer for 
him any hope that he should leave a 
male heir at Humblethwaite to inherit 
his name and his honors. 

For months it was thought that Lady 
Elizabeth would follow her boy. Sir 
Harry bore the blow bravely, though 
none who do not understand the system 
well can conceive how the natural grief 
of the father was increased by the dis- 
appointment which had fallen upon the 
head of the house. But the old man 
bore it well, making but few audible 
moans, shedding no tears, altering in 
very little the habits of life ; still spend- 
ing money, because it was good for 
others that it should be spent, and only 
speaking of his son when it was neces- 



sary for him to allude to those altered 
arrangements as to the family property 
which it was necessary that he should 
make. But still he was a changed man, 
as those perceived who watched him 
closest. Cloudesdale the butler knew 
well in what he was changed, as did old 
Hesketh the groom, and Gilsby the 
gamekeeper. He had never been given 
to much talk, but was now more silent 
that of yore. Of horses, dogs and game 
there was no longer any mention what- 
ever made by the baronet. He was still 
constant with Mr. Lanesby the steward, 
because it was his duty to know every- 
thing that was done on the property ; 
but even Mr. Lanesby would acknow- 
ledge that as to actual improvements — 
the commencement of new work in the 
hope of future returns — the baronet was 
not at all the man he had been. How 
was it possible that he should be the 
man he had been when his life was so 
nearly gone, and that other life had 
gone also which was to have been the 
renewal and continuation of hr- own ? 

When the blow fell, it became Sir 
Harry's imperative duty to make up his 
mind what he would do with his prop- 
erty. As regarded the two estates, they 
were now absolutely, every acre of 
them, at his own disposal. He had one 
child left to him, a daughter — in whom, 
it is hoped, the reader may be induced 
to take some interest, and with her to 
feel some sympathy, for she will be the 
person with whom the details of this 
little story must most be concerned — 
and he had a male heir, who must needs 
inherit the title of the family, one George 
Hotspur — not a nephew, for Sir Harry 
had never had a brother, but the son 
of a first cousin who had not himself 
been much esteemed at Humblethwaite. 

Now, Sir Harry was a man who, in 
such a condition as this in which he was 
now placed, would mainly be guided by 
his ideas of duty. For a month or two 
he said not a word to any one, not even 
to his own lawyer, though he himself 
had made a will, a temporary will, duly 
witnessed by Mr. Lanesby and another, 
so that the ownership of the property 
should not be adjusted simply by the 



SIR BARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



chance direction of law in the event of 
his own sudden demise; but his mind 
was doubtless much burdened with the 
subject. How should he discharge this 
fresh responsibility which now rested on 
him ? While his boy had lived the re- 
sponsibility of his property had had 
nothing for him but charms. All was 
to go to the young Harry — all, as a 
matter of course ; and it was only neces- 
sary for him to take care that every acre 
should descend to his heir not only un- 
impaired by him in value, but also some- 
what increased. Provision for his widow 
and for his girl had already been made 
before he had ventured on matrimony — 
provision sufficient for many girls had 
Fortune so far favored him. But that 
an eldest son should have all the family 
land — one, though as many sons should 
have been given to him as to Priam — 
and that that one should have it unen- 
cumbered, as he had had it from his 
father, — this was to him the very law of 
his being. And he would have taught 
that son — had already begun to teach 
him when the great blow came — that all 
this was to be given to him, not that he 
might put it into his own belly or wear 
it on his own back, or even spend it as 
he might list himself, but that he might 
so live as to do his part in maintaining 
that order of gentlehood in England by 
which England had become — so thought 
Sir Harry — the proudest and the greatest 
and the justest of nations. 

But now he had no son, and yet the 
duty remained to him of maintaining 
his order. It would perhaps have been 
better for him, it would certainly have 
been easier, had some settlement or 
family entail fixed all things for him. 
Those who knew him well personally, 
but did not know the affairs of his fam- 
ily, declared among themselves that Sir 
Harry would take care that the property 
went with the title. A marriage might 
be arranged : there could be nothing to 
object to a marriage between second 
cousins. At any rate, Sir Harry Hot- 
spur was certainly not the man to sepa- 
rate the property from the title. But 
they who knew the family, and espe- 
cially that branch of the family from 



which George Hotspur came, declared 
that Sir Harry would never give his 
daughter to such a one as was this 
cousin. And if not his daughter, then 
neither would he give to such a scape- 
grace either Humblethwaite in Cumber- 
land or Scarrowby in Durham. There 
did exist a party who said that Sir Har- 
ry would divide the property, but they 
who held such an opinion certainly 
knew very little of Sir Harry's social or 
political tenets. Any such division was 
the one thing which he surely would not 
effect. - - ' 

When twelve months had passed after 
the death of Sir Harry's son, George 
Hotspur had been at Humblethwaite 
and had gone, and Sir Harry's will had 
been made. He had left everything to 
his daughter, and had only stipulated 
that her husband, should she marry, 
should take the name of Hotspur. He 
had decided that should his daughter, 
as was probable, marry within his life- 
time, he could then make what settle- 
ments he pleased, even to the changing 
of the tenor of his will should he think 
fit to change it. Should he die and 
leave her still a spinster, he would trust 
to her in everything. Not being a man 
of mystery, he told his wife and his 
daughter what he had done, and what 
he still thought that he possibly might 
do ; and being also a man to whom any 
suspicion of injustice was odious, he de- 
sired his attorney to make known to 
George Hotspur what had been settled. 
And in order that this blow to Cousin 
George might be lightened — Cousin 
George having in conversation acknow- 
ledged to a few debts — an immediate 
present was made to him of four thou- 
sand pounds, and double that amount 
was assured to him at the baronet's 
death. 

The reader may be sure that the ba- 
ronet had heard many things respecting 
Cousin George which he did not like. 
To him personally it would have been 
infinitely preferable that the title and 
the estates should have gone together 
than that his own daughter should be a 
great heiress. That her outlook into 
the world was fair and full of promise of 



s 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



prosperity either way was clear enough. 
Twenty thousand a year would not be 
necessary to make her a happy woman. 
And then it was to him a manifest and 
a sacred religion that to no man or to 
no woman were appointed the high 
pinnacles of fortune simply that that 
man or that woman might enjoy them. 
They were to be held, as thrones are 
held, for the benefit of the many. And 
in the disposition of this throne, the 
necessity of making which had fallen 
upon him from the loss of his own dar- 
ling, he had brought himself to think 
not of his daughter's happiness, or to 
the balance of which, in her possessing 
or not possessing the property, he could 
venture on no prophecy, but of the wel- 
fare of all those who might measure 
their weal or woe from the manner in 
which the duties of this high place were 
administered. He would fain that there 
should still have been a Sir Harry or a 
Sir George Hotspur of Humblethwaite ; 
but he found that his duty required him 
to make the other arrangement. 

And yet he had liked the cousin, who 
indeed had many gifts to win liking 
both from men and women. Previously 
to the visit very little had been known 
personally of young George Hotspur at 
Humblethwaite. His father, also a 
George, had in early life quarreled with 
the elder branch of the family, and had 
gone off with what money belonged to 
him, and had lived and died in Paris. 
The younger George had been educated 
abroad, and then had purchased a com- 
mission in a regiment of English cav- 
alry. At the time when young Harry 
died it was only known of him at Hum- 
blethwaite that he had achieved a cer- 
tain reputation in London, and that he 
had sold out of the army. He was talked 
of as a man who shot birds with pre- 
cision. Pigeons he could shoot with 
wonderful dexterity ; which art was at 
Humblethwaite supposed to be much 
against him. But then he was equally 
successful with partridges and pheas- 
ants ; and, partly on account of such 
success, and partly probably because 
his manner was pleasant, he was known 
to be a welcome guest at houses in which 



men congregate to slaughter game. In 
this way he had a .reputation, and one 
that was not altogether cause for re- 
proach ; but it had not previously 
recommended him to the notice of his 
cousin. 

Just ten months after poor Harry's 
death he was asked, and went, to Hum- 
blethwaite. Probably at that moment 
the baronet's mind was still somewhat 
in doubt. The wish of Lady Elizabeth 
had been clearly expressed to her hus- 
band to the effect that encouragement 
should be given to the young people to 
fall in love with each other. To this 
Sir Harry never assented, though there 
was a time — and that time had not yet 
passed when George Hotspur reached 
Humblethwaite — in which the baronet 
was not altogether averse to the idea of 
the marriage. But when George left 
Humblethwaite the baronet had made 
up his mind. Tidings had reached him, 
and he was afraid of the cousin. Anc. 
other tidings had reached him also ; or 
rather perhaps it would be truer to him 
to say that another idea had come to 
him. Of all the young men now rising 
in England there was no young man 
who more approved himself to Sir 
Harry's choice than did Lord Alfred 
Gresley, the second son of his old friend 
and political leader, the Marquis of 
Milnthorp. Lord Alfred had but scanty- 
fortune of his own, but was in Parlia- 
ment and in office, and was doing well. 
All men said all good things of him. 
Then there was a word or two spoken 
between the marquis and the baronet, 
and just a word also with Lord Alfred 
himself. Lord Alfred had no objection 
to the name of Hotspur. This was in 
October, while George Hotspur was still 
declaring that Gilsby knew nothing of 
getting up a head of game ; and then 
Lord Alfred promised to come to Hum- 
blethwaite at Christmas. It was after 
this that George owned to a few debts. 
His confession on that score did him no 
harm. Sir Harry had made up his 
mind that day. Sir Harry had at that 
time learned a good deal of his cousin 
George's mode of life in London, and 
had already decided that this young man 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



was not one whom it would be well to 
set upon the pinnacle. 

And yet he had liked the young man, 
as did everybody. Lady Elizabeth had 
liked him much, and for a fortnight had 
gone on hoping that all difficulties might 
have solved themselves by the young 
man's marriage with her daughter. It 
need hardly be said that not a word one 
way or the other was spoken to Emily 
Hotspur ; but it seemed to the mother 
that the young people, though there was 
no love-making, yet liked each other. 
Sir Harry at this time was up in London 
for a month or two, hearing tidings, 
seeing Lord Alfred, who was at his 
office ; and on his return that solution 
by family marriage was ordered to be 
for ever banished from the maternal 
bosom. Sir Harry said that it would 
not do. 

Nevertheless, he was good to the 
young cousin, and when the time was 
drawing nigh for the young man's de- 
parture he spoke of a further visit. The 
covers at Humblethwaite, such as they 
were, would always be at his service. 
This was a week before the cousin went ; 
but by the coming of the day on which 
the cousin took his departure, Sir Harry 
regretted that he had made that offer of 
future hospitality. A-""" 



CHAPTER II. 
OUR HEROINE. 

" He has said nothing to her ?" asked 
Sir Harry, anxiously, of his wife. 

" I think not," replied Lady Elizabeth. 

"Had he said anything that meant 
anything, she would have told you ?" 

"Certainly she. would," said Lady 
Elizabeth. 

Sir Harry knew his child, and was 
satisfied that no harm had been done : 
nevertheless, he wished that that further 
invitation had not been given. If this 
Christmas visitor that was to come to 
Humblethwaite could be successful, all 
would be right ; but it had seemed to Sir 
Harry, during that last week of Cousin 
George's sojourn beneath his roof, there 
had been more of cousinly friendship 



between the cousins than had been 
salutary, seeing, as he had seen, that 
any closer connection was inexpedient. 
But he thought that he was sure that no 
great harm had been done. Had any 
word been spoken to his girl which she 
herself had taken as a declaration of 
love, she would certainly have told her 
mother. Sir Harry would no more doubt 
his daughter than he would his own 
honor. There were certain points and 
lines of duty clearly laid down for a girl 
so placed as was his daughter ; and Sir 
Harry, though he could not have told 
whence the knowledge of these points 
and lines had come to his child, never 
for a moment doubted but that she 
knew them and would obey them. To 
know and to obey such points of duty 
were a part of the inheritance of such a 
one as Emily Hotspur. Nevertheless, it 
might be possible that her fancy should 
be touched, and that she herself should 
know nothing of it — nothing that she 
could confide even to a mother. Sir 
Harry, understanding this, and having 
seen in these last days something, as he 
thought, of too close a cousinly friend- 
ship, was anxious that Lord Alfred 
should come and settle everything. If 
Lord Alfred should be successful, all 
danger would be at an end, and the 
cousin might come again and do what 
he liked with the covers. Alas ! alas ! 
the cousin should never have been al- 
lowed to show his handsome, wicked 
face at Humblethwaite. 

Emily Hotspur was a girl whom any 
father would have trusted ; and let the 
reader understand this of her — that she 
was one in whom intentional deceit was 
impossible. Neither to her father nor- 
to any one could she lie, either in word 
or action. And all these lines and points 
of duty were well known to her, though 
she knew not, and had never asked her- 
self, whence the lesson had come. Will 
it be too much to say that they had 
formed a part of her breeding, and 
had been given to her with her blood ? 
She understood well that from her, as 
heiress of the house of Humblethwaite, 
a double obedience was due to her fa- 
ther — the obedience of a child, added to 



IO 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



that which was now required from her 
as the future transmitter of honors of 
the house. And yet no word had been 
said to her of the honors of the house ; 
nor, indeed, had many words ever been 
said as to that other obedience. These 
lessons, when they have been well 
learned, have ever come without direct 
teaching. 

But she knew more than this, and 
the knowledge had reached her in the 
same manner. Though she owed a great 
duty to her father, there was a limit to 
that duty, of which, unconsciously, she 
was well aware. When her mother 
told her that Lord Alfred was coming, 
having been instructed to do so by Sir 
Harry, and hinted, with a caress and 
a kiss and a soft whisper, that Lord 
Alfred was one of whom Sir Harry 
approved greatly, and that if further 
approval could be bestowed Sir Harry 
would not be displeased, Emily, as she 
returned her mother's embrace, felt that 
she had a possession of her own with 
which neither father nor mother might 
be allowed to interfere. It was for 
them, or rather for him, to say that a 
hand so weighted as was hers should 
not be given here or there ; but it was 
not for them, not even for him, to say 
that her heart was to be given here or 
to be given there. Let them put upon 
her what weight they might of family 
honors and of family responsibility, that 
was her own property ; — if not, perhaps, 
to be bestowed at her own pleasure be- 
cause of the pressure of that weight, still 
her own, and absolutely beyond the be- 
stowal of any other. 

Nevertheless, she declared to herself, 
and whispered to her mother, that she 
would be glad to welcome Lord Alfred. 
She had known him well when she was 
a child of twelve years old and he was 
already a young man in Parliament. 
Since those days she had met him more 
than once in London. She was now 
turned twenty, and he was something 
more than ten years her senior ; but 
there was nothing against him, at any 
rate, on the score of age. Lord Alfred 
was admitted on every side to be still a 
young man ; and though he had already 



been a lord of one Board or of another 
for the last four years, and had earned 
a reputation for working, he did not 
look like a man who would be more 
addicted to sitting at Boards than spend- 
ing his time with young women. He 
was handsome, pleasant, good-humored 
and full of talk ; had nothing about him 
of the official fogy, and was regarded 
by all his friends as a man who was 
just now fit to marry. "They say that 
he is such a good son and such a 
good brother," said Lady Elizabeth, 
anxiously. 

"Quite a phoenix !" said Emily, laugh- 
ing. Then Lady Elizabeth began to 
fear that she had said too much, and did 
not mention Lord Alfred's name for two 
days. 

But Miss Hotspur had by that time 
resolved that Lord Alfred should have 
a fair chance. If she could teach her- 
self to think that of all men walking the 
earth, Lord Alfred was the best and the 
most divine, the nearest of all men to a 
god, how excellent a thing would it be ! 
Her great responsibility as to the family 
burden would in that case already be 
acquitted with credit. The wishes of 
her father, which on such a subject were 
all but paramount, would be gratified ; 
and she herself would then be placed 
almost beyond the hand of misfortune 
to hurt her. At any rate, the great and 
almost crushing difficulty of her life 
would so be solved. But the man must 
have enough in her eyes of that godlike 
glory to satisfy her that she had found in 
him one who would be almost a divinity 
— at any rate to her. Could he speak 
as that other man spoke ? Could he 
look as that other one looked ? Would 
there be in his eye such a depth of color, 
in his voice such a sound of music, in 
his gait so divine a grace ? For that 
other one, though she had looked into 
the brightness of the color, though she 
had heard the sweetness of the music, 
though she had watched the elastic 
spring of the step, she cared nothing as 
regarded her heart — her heart, which 
was the one treasure of her own. No ; 
she was sure of that. Of her one own 
great treasure she was much too chary 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



II 



to give it away unasked, and too inde- 
pendent, as she told herself, to give it 
away unauthorized. The field was open 
to Lord Alfred ; and, as her father 
wished it, Lord Alfred should be re- 
ceived with every favor. If she could 
find divinity, then she would bow before 
it readily. 

Alas for Lord Alfred ! We may all 
know that when she thought of it thus 
there was but poor chance of success 
for Lord Alfred. Let him have what of 
the godlike he might, she would find but 
little of it there when she made her cal- 
culations and resolutions after such 
fashion as this. The man who becomes 
divine in a woman's eyes has generally 
achieved his claim to celestial honors by 
sudden assault. And, alas ! the qualities 
which carry him through it and give the 
halo to his head may after all be very 
ungodlike. Some such achievement had 
already fallen in the way of Cousin 
George ; though had Cousin George and 
Lord Alfred been weighed in just scales, 
the divinity of the latter, such as it was, 
would have been found greatly to pre- 
vail. Indeed, it might perhaps have 
been difficult to lay hold of and to bring 
forward as presentable for such office as 
that of a lover for such a girl any young 
man who should be less godlike than 
Cousin George. But he had gifts of 
simulation, which are valuable ; and 
poor Emily Hotspur had not yet learned 
the housewife's trick of passing the web 
through her fingers, and of finding by 
the touch whether the fabric were of 
tine wool, or of shoddy made up with 
craft to look like wool of the finest. 

We say that there was but small 
chance for Lord Alfred ; nevertheless 
the lady was dutifully minded to give 
him all the chance that it was in her 
power to bestow. She did not tell her- 
self that her father's hopes were vain. 
Of her preference for that other man she 
never told herself anything. She was 
not aware that it existed. She knew 
that he was handsome : she thought that 
he was clever. She knew that he had 
talked to her as no man had ever talked 
before. She was aware that he was her 
nearest relative beyond her father and 



mother, and that therefore she might be 
allowed to love him as a cousin. She 
told herself that he was a Hotspur, and 
that he must be the head of the Hot- 
spurs when her father should be taken 
from them. She thought that he looked 
as a man should look who would have 
to carry such a dignity. But there was 
nothing more. No word had been said 
to her on the subject ; but she was 
aware, because no word had been said, 
that it was not thought fitting that she 
should be her cousin's bride. She could 
not but know how great would be the 
advantage could the estates and the title 
be kept together. Even though he should 
inherit no acre of the land — and she had 
been told by her father that such was 
his decision — this Cousin George must 
become the head of the house of Hot- 
spur ; and to be head of the house of 
Hotspur was to her a much greater thing 
than to be the owner of Humblethwaite 
and Scarrowby. Gifts like the latter 
might be given to a mere girl like her- 
self — were to be so given. But let any 
man living do what he might, George 
Hotspur must become the head and 
chief of the old house of Hotspur. 
Nevertheless, it was not for her to join 
the two things together, unless her father 
should see that it would be good for her 
to do so. 

Emily Hotspur was very like her 
father, having that peculiar cast of 
countenance which had always charac- 
terized the family. She had the same 
arch in her eyebrows, indicating an 
aptitude for authority ; the same well- 
formed nose, though with her the beak 
of the eagle was less prominent ; the 
same short lip and small mouth and 
delicate dimpled chin. With both of 
them the lower part of the face was pe- 
culiarly short and finely cut. With both 
of them the brow was high and broad, 
and the temples prominent. But the 
girl's eyes were blue, while those of the 
old man were brightly green. It was 
told of him that when a boy his eyes also 
had been blue. Her hair, which was 
very plentiful, was light in color, but by 
no means flaxen. Her complexion was 
as clear as the finest porcelain, but there 



12 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



were ever roses in her cheeks, for she 
was strong by nature and her health 
was perfect. She was somewhat short 
of stature, as were all the Hotspurs, and 
her feet and hands and ears were small 
and delicate. But though short, she 
seemed to lack nothing in symmetry, 
and certainly lacked nothing in strength. 
She could ride or walk the whole day, 
and had no feeling that such vigor of 
body was a possession of which a young 
lady should be ashamed. Such as she 
was, she was the acknowledged beauty 
of the county ; and at Carlisle, where 
she showed herself at least once a year 
at the county ball, there was neither 
man nor woman, young or old, who 
was not ready to say that Emily Hot- 
spur was, among maidens, the glory of 
Cumberland. ^ -i i ■■ 

Her life hitherto had been very quiet. 
There was the ball at Carlisle, which she 
had attended thrice : on the last occa- 
sion, because of her brother's death, she 
had been absent, and the family of the 
Hotspurs had been represented there 
only by the venison and game which 
had been sent from Humblethwaite. 
Twice also she had spent the months of 
May and June in London ; but it had 
not hitherto suited the tone of her 
father's character to send his daughter 
out into all the racket of a London sea- 
son. She had gone to balls and to the 
opera, and had ridden in the Park, and 
been seen at flower-shows ; but she had 
not been so common in those places as 
to be known to the crowd. And hither- 
to, neither in town nor country, had her 
name been connected with that of any 
suitor for her hand. She was now twen- 
ty, and the reader will remember that 
in the twelve months last past the house 
of Humblethwaite had been clouded 
with deep mourning. 

The cousin was come and gone, and 
the baronet hoped in his heart that there 
might be an end of him as far as Hum- 
blethwaite was concerned — at any rate 
till his child should have given herself 
to a better lover. Tidings had been 
sent to Sir Harry during the last week 
of the young man's sojourn beneath his 
roof, which of all that had reached his 



ears were the worst. He had before 
heard of recklessness, of debt, of dis- 
sipation, of bad comrades. Now he 
heard of worse than these. If that 
which he now heard was true, there had 
been dishonor. But Sir Harry was a 
man who wanted ample evidence be- 
fore he allowed his judgment to actuate 
his conduct, and in this case the evi- 
dence was far from ample. He did not 
stint his hospitality to the future baronet, 
but he failed to repeat that promise of a 
future welcome which had already been 
given, and which had been thankfully 
accepted. But a man knows that such 
an offer of renewed hospitality should 
be repeated at the moment of departure, 
and George Hotspur, as he was taken 
away to the nearest station in his cou- 
sin's carriage, was quite aware that Sir 
Harry did not then desire that the visit 
should be repeated. 

Lord Alfred was to be at Humble- 
thwaite on Christmas Eve. The emer- 
gencies of the Board at which he sat 
would not allow of an earlier absence 
from London. He was a man who 
shirked no official duty and was afraid 
of no amount of work ; and though he 
knew how great was the prize before 
him, he refused to leave his Board be- 
fore the day had come at which his 
Board must necessarily dispense with 
his services. Between him and his fa- 
ther there had been no reticence, and it 
was clearly understood by him that he 
was to go down and win twenty thou- 
sand a year and the prettiest girl in 
Cumberland, if his own capacity that 
way, joined to all the favor of the girl's 
father and mother, would enable him 
to attain success. To Emily not a word 
more had been said on the subject than 
those which have been already narrated 
as having been spoken by the mother 
to the daughter. With all his authority, 
with all his love for his only remaining 
child, with all his consciousness of the 
terrible importance of the matter at 
issue, Sir Harry could not bring himself 
to suggest to his daughter that it would 
be well for her to fall in love with the 
guest who was coming to them. But to 
Lady Elizabeth he said very much. He 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBIETHWAITE. 



r 3 



had quite made up his mind that the 
thing would be good, and having done 
so he was very anxious that the arrange- 
ment should be made. It was natural 
that this girl of his should learn to love 
some youth ; and how terrible was the 
danger of her loving amiss when so 
much depended on her loving wisely ! 
The whole fate of the house of Hotspur 
was in her hands, to do with it as she 
thought fit. Sir Harry trembled as he 
reflected what would be the result were 
she to come to him some day and ask 
his favor for a suitor wholly unfitted 
to bear the name of Hotspur and to sit 
on the throne of Humblethwaite and 
Scarrowby. 

"Is she pleased that he is coming?" 
he said to his wife the evening before 
the arrival of their guest. 

" Certainly she is pleased. She knows 
that we both like him." 

" I remember when she used to talk 
about him — often," said Sir Harry. 

"That was when she was a child." 

"But a year or two ago," said Sir 
Harry. 

" Three or four years, perhaps ; and 
with her that is a long time. It is not 
likely that she should talk much of him 
now. Of course she knows what it is 
that we wish." 

" Does she think about her cousin at 
all ?" he said, some hours afterward. 

" Yes, she thinks of him. That is only 
natural, you know." 

" It would be unnatural that she 
should think of him much." 

" I do not see that," said the mother, 
keen to defend her daughter from what 
might seem to be an implied reproach. 
"George Hotspur is a man who will 
make himself thought of wherever he 
goes. He is clever and very amusing : 
there is no denying that. And then he 
has the Hotspur look all over." 

" I wish he had never set his foot with- 
in the house," said the father. 

" My dear, there is no such danger as 
you think," said Lady Elizabeth. "Em- 
ily is not a girl prone to fall in love at 
a moment's notice because a man is 
good-looking and amusing ; and cer- 
tainly not with the conviction which 



she must have that her doing so would 
greatly grieve you." 

Sir Harry believed in his daughter, 
and said no more, but he thoroughly 
wished that Lord Alfred's wedding-day 
was fixed. 

"Mamma," said Emily on the fol- 
lowing day, " won't Lord Alfred be very 
dull ?" 

" I hope not, my dear." 

"What is he to do, with nobody else 
here to amuse him ?" 

"The Crutchleys are coming on the 
27th." 

Now, Mr. and Mrs. Crutchley were, 
as Emily thought, very ordinary people, 
and quite unlikely to afford amusement 
to Lord Alfred. Mr. Crutchley was an 
old gentleman of county standing and 
with property in the county, living in a 
large dull red house in Penrith, of whom 
Sir Harry thought a good deal, because 
he was a gentleman who happened to 
have had great-grandfathers and great- 
grandmothers. But he was quite as old 
as Sir Harry, and Mrs. Crutchley was a 
great deal older than Lady Elizabeth. 

"What will Lord Alfred have to say 
to Mrs. Crutchley, mamma?" 

"What do people in society always 
have to say to each other? And the 
Lathebys are coming here to dine to- 
morrow, and will come again, I don't 
doubt, on the 27th." 

Mr. Latheby was the young vicar of 
Humblethwaite, and Mrs. Latheby was 
a very pretty young bride whom he had 
just married. 

"And then Lord Alfred shoots," con- 
tinued Lady Elizabeth. 

" Cousin George said that the shoot- 
ing wasn't worth going after," said Em- 
ily, smiling. " Mamma, I fear it will be 
a failure." This made Lady Elizabeth 
unhappy, as she thought that more was 
meant than was really said. But she did 
not confide her fears to her husband. 



CHAPTER III. 
LORD ALFRED'S COURTSHIP. 

The Hall, as the great house at Hum- 
blethwaite was called, consisted in truth 



H 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



of various edifices added one to another 
at various periods ; but the result was 
this, that no more picturesque mansion 
could be found in any part of England 
than the Hall at Humblethwaite. The 
oldest portion of it was said to be of the 
time of Henry VII. ; but it may perhaps 
be doubted whether the set of rooms 
with lattice windows looking out on to 
the bowling-green, each window from 
beneath its own gable, was so old as the 
date assigned to it. It is strange how 
little authority can usually be found in 
family records to verify such statements. 
It was known that Humblethwaite and 
the surrounding manors had been given 
to, or in some fashion purchased by, a 
certain Harry Hotspur, who also in his 
day had been a knight, when Church 
lands were changing hands under Hen- 
ry VIII. And there was authority to 
prove that that Sir Harry had done 
something toward making a home for 
himself on the spot ; but whether those 
very gables were a portion of the build- 
ing which the monks of St. Humble had 
raised for themselves in the preceding 
reign may probably be doubted. That 
there were fragments of masonry and 
parts of old timber remaining from the 
monastery was probably true enough. 
The great body of the old house, as it 
now stood, had been built in the time 
of Charles II., and there was the date 
in the brickwork still conspicuous on 
the wall looking into the court. The 
hall and front door as it now stood, very 
prominent but quite at the end of the 
house, had been erected in the reign of 
Queen Anne, and the modern drawing- 
rooms, with the best bed-rooms over 
them, projecting far out into the modern 
gardens, had been added by the present 
baronet's father. The house was en- 
tirely of brick, and the old windows — 
not the very oldest, the reader will un- 
derstand, but those of the Caroline age 
— were built with strong stone mullions, 
and were longer than they were deep, 
beauty of architecture having in those 
days been more regarded than light. 
Who does not know such windows, and 
has not declared to himself often how 
sad a thing it is that sanitary or scientific 



calculations should have banished the 
like of them from our houses ? Two 
large oriel windows, coming almost to 
the ground and going up almost to the 
ceilings, adorned the dining-room and 
the library. From the drawing-rooms 
modern windows, opening on to a ter- 
race, led into the garden. 

You entered the mansion by a court 
that was enclosed on two sides altogether, 
and on the two others partially. Facing 
you, as you drove in, was the body of 
the building, with the huge porch pro- 
jecting on the right, so as to give the 
appearance of a portion of the house 
standing out on that side. On the left 
was that old mythic Tudor remnant of 
the monastery, of which the back wall 
seen from the court was pierced only 
with a small window here and there, 
and was covered with ivy. Those lattice 
windows, from which Emily Hotspur 
loved to think that the monks of old 
had looked into their trim gardens, now 
looked on to a bowling-green, which 
was kept very trim in honor of the holy 
personages who were supposed to have 
played there four centuries ago. Then, 
at the end of this old building, there 
had been erected kitchens, servants' 
offices and various rooms, which turned 
the corner of the court in front, so that 
only one corner had, as it were, been 
left for ingress and egress. But the 
court itself was large, and in the middle 
of it there stood an old stone ornamental 
structure, usually called the fountain, 
but quite ignorant of water, loaded with 
griffins and satyrs and mermaids with 
ample busts, all overgrown with a green, 
damp growth, which was scraped off by 
the joint efforts of the gardener and ma- 
son once perhaps in every five years. 

It often seems that the beauty of 
architecture is accidental. A great man 
goes to work with great means on a 
great pile, and makes a great failure. 
The world perceives that grace and 
beauty have escaped him, and that even 
magnificence has been hardly achieved. 
Then there grows up beneath various 
unknown hands a complication of stones 
and brick, to the arrangement of which 
no great thought seems to have been 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



15 



given, and lo ! there is a thing so perfect 
in its glory that he who looks at it de- 
clares that nothing could be taken away 
and nothing added without injury and 
sacrilege and disgrace. So it had been, 
or rather so it was now, with the Hall at 
Humblethwaite. No rule ever made for 
the guidance of an artist had been kept. 
The parts were out of proportion. No 
two parts seemed to fit each other. Put 
it all on paper and it was an absurdity. 
The huge hall and porch added on by 
the builder of Queen Anne's time, at 
the very extremity of the house, were 
almost a monstrosity. The passages 
and staircases and internal arrange- 
ments were simply ridiculous. But 
there was not a portion of the whole 
interior that did not charm ; nor was 
there a corner of the exterior, nor a 
yard of an outside wall, that was not in 
itself eminently beautiful. 

Lord Alfred Gresley, as he was driven 
into the court in the early dusk of a 
winter evening, having passed through 
a mile and a half of such park scenery 
as only Cumberland and Westmoreland 
can show, was fully alive to the glories 
of the place. Humblethwaite did not 
lie among the lakes — was, indeed, full 
ten miles to the north of Keswick ; but 
it was so placed that it enjoyed the 
beauty and the luxury of mountains 
and rivers, without the roughness of un- 
manageable rocks or the sterility and 
dampness of moorland. Of rocky frag- 
ments, indeed, peeping out through the 
close turf, and here and there coming 
forth boldly, so as to break the park into 
little depths, with now and again a real 
ravine, there were plenty. And there 
ran right across the park, passing so 
near the Hall as to require a stone 
bridge in the very flower-garden, the 
Caldbeck, as bright and swift a stream 
as ever took away the water from neigh- 
boring mountains. And to the south of 
Humblethwaite there stood the huge 
Skiddaw, and Saddleback with its long 
gaunt ridge ; while to the west Brockle- 
band Fell seemed to encircle the domain. 
Lord Alfred, as he was driven up through 
the old trees, and saw the deer peering 
at him from the knolls and broken frag- 



ments of stone, felt that he need not 
envy his elder brother if only his lines 
might fall to him in this very pleasant 
place. 

He had known Humblethwaite before ; 
and, irrespective of all its beauties and 
of the wealth of the Hotspurs, was 
quite willing to fall in love with Emily- 
Hotspur. That a man with such dainties 
offered to him should not become greedy 
that there should be no touch of avarice 
when such wealth was shown to him. 
is almost more than we may dare to 
assert. But Lord Alfred was a man not 
specially given to covetousness. He 
had recognized it as his duty as a man 
not to seek for these things unless he 
could in truth love the woman who held 
them in her hands to give. But as he 
looked round him through the gloaming 
of the evening, he thought that he re- 
membered that Emily Hotspur was all 
that was lovable. 

But, reader, we must not linger long 
over Lord Alfred's love. A few words 
as to the father, a few as to the daughter, 
and a few also as to the old house where 
they dwelt together, it has been neces- 
sary to say ; but this little love-story of 
Lord Alfred's — if it ever was a love- 
story — must be told very shortly. 

He remained five weeks at Humble- 
thwaite, and showed himself willing to 
receive amusement from old Mrs. Crutch- 
ley and from young Mrs. Latheby. The 
shooting was quite good enough for him, 
and he won golden opinions from every 
one about the place. He made himself 
acquainted with the whole history of the 
house, and was prepared to prove to 
demonstration that Henry VII. 's monks 
had looked out of those very windows 
and had played at bowls on that very 
green. Emily became fond of him after 
a fashion, but he failed to assume any 
aspect of divinity in her eyes. 

Of the thing to be done neither father 
nor mother said a word to the girl ; and 
she, though she knew so well that the 
doing of it was intended, said not a word 
to her mother. Had Lady Elizabeth 
known how to speak, had she dared to 
be free with her own child, Emily would 
soon have told her that there was no 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



chance for Lord Alfred. And Lady 
Elizabeth would have believed her. 
Nay, Lady Elizabeth, though she could 
not speak, had the woman's instinct, 
which almost assured her that the match 
would never be made. Sir Harry, on 
the other side, thought that things went 
prosperously ; and his wife did not dare 
to undeceive him. He saw the young 
people together, and thought that he 
saw that Emily was kind. He did not 
know that this frank kindness was in- 
compatible with love in such a maiden's 
ways. As for Emily herself, she knew 
that it must come. She knew that she 
could not prevent it. A slight hint or 
two she did give, or thought she gave, 
but they were too fine, too impalpable, 
to be of avail. 

Lord Alfred spoke nothing of love till 
he made his offer in form. At last he 
was not hopeful himself. He had found 
it impossible to speak to this girl of love. 
She had been gracious with him, and 
almost intimate, and yet it had been im- 
possible. He thought of himself that he 
was dull, stupid, lethargic and miserably 
undemonstrative. But the truth was, 
that there was nothing for him to demon- 
strate. He had come there to do a stroke 
of business, and he could not throw into 
this business a spark of that fire which 
would have been kindled by such sym- 
pathy had it existed. There are men 
who can raise such sparks, the pretence 
of fire, where there is no heat at all — 
false, fraudulent men — but he was not 
such a one. Nevertheless he went on 
with his business. 

"Miss Hotspur," he said to her one 
morning between breakfast and lunch- 
eon, when, as usual, opportunity had 
been given him to be alone with her, 
" I have something to say to you, which 
I hope, at any rate, it will not make you 
angry to hear." 

" I am sure you will say nothing to 
make me angry," she replied. 

" I have already spoken to your father, 
and I have his permission. I may say 
more. He assures me that he hopes I 
may succeed." He paused a moment, 
but she remained quite tranquil. He 
watched her, and could see that' the 



delicate pink on her cheek was a little 
heightened, and that a streak of color 
showed itself on her fair brow ; but 
there was nothing in her manner to 
give him either promise of success or 
assurance of failure. "You will know 
what I mean ?" 

"Yes, I know," she said, almost in a 
whisper. 

"And may I hope? To say that I 
love you dearly seems to be saying 
what must be a matter of course." 

" I do not see that at all," she replied 
with spirit. 

"I do love you very dearly. If I 
may be allowed to think that you will 
be my wife, I shall be the happiest man 
in England. I know how great is the 
honor which I seek, how immense in 
every way is the gift which I ask you 
to give me. Can you love me ?" 

"No," she said, again dropping her 
voice to a whisper. 

"Is that all the answer, Miss Hot- 
spur ?" 

"What should I say? How ought I 
to answer you ? If I could say it with- 
out seeming to be unkind, indeed, in- 
deed, I would do so." 

"Perhaps I have been abrupt." 

" It is not that. When you ask me — 
to — to — love you, of course I know 
what you mean. Should I not speak 
the truth at once ?" 

"Must this be for always ?" 

"For always," she replied. And then 
it was over. 

He did not himself press his suit 
farther, though he remained at Hum- 
blethwaite for three days after this in- 
terview. 

Before lunch on that day the story 
had been told by Emily to her mother, 
and by Lord Alfred to Sir Harry. Lady 
Elizabeth knew well enough that the 
story would never have to be told in 
another way. Sir Harry by no means 
so easily gave up his enterprise. He 
proposed to Lord Alfred that Emily 
should be asked to reconsider her ver- 
dict. With his wife he was very round, 
saying that an answer given so curtly 
should go for nothing, and that the girl 
must be taught her duty. With Emily 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



V 



herself he was less urgent, less author- 
itative, and indeed at last somewhat 
suppliant. He explained to her how 
excellent would be the marriage ; how 
it would settle this terrible responsibil- 
ity which now lay on his shoulders with 
so heavy a weight ; how glorious would 
be her position ; and how the Hotspurs 
would still live as a great family could 
she bring herself to be obedient. And 
he said very much in praise of Lord 
Alfred, pointing out how good a man 
he was, how moral, how diligent, how 
safe, how clever — how sure, with the 
assistance of the means which she would 
give him, to be one of the notable men 
of the country. But she never yielded 
an inch. She said very little — answered 
him hardly a word, standing close to him, 
holding by his arm and his hand. There 
was the fact that she would not have 



the man, would not have the man now 
or ever, certainly would not have him ; 
and Sir Harry, let him struggle as he 
might, and talk his best, could not keep 
himself from giving absolute credit to 
her assurance. 

The visit was prolonged for three 
days, and then Lord Alfred left Hum- 
blethwaite Hall with less appreciation 
of all its beauties than he had felt as he 
was first being driven up to the Hall 
doors. When he went, Sir Harry could 
only bid God bless him, and assure him 
that, should he ever choose to try his 
fortune again, he should have all the 
aid which a father could give him. 

"It would be useless," said Lord 
Alfred : " she knows her own mind too 
well." 

And so he went away. 






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PART II. 



CHAPTER IV. 
VACILLATION. 

WHEN the spring-time came, Sir 
Harry Hotspur, with his wife and 
daughter, went up to London. During 
the last season the house in Bruton 
street had been empty. He and his 
wife were then mourning their lost son, 
and there was no place for the gayety 
of London in their lives. Sir Harry 
was still thinking of his great loss. He 
was always thinking of the boy who was 
gone, who had been the apple of his 
eye, his one great treasure, the only hu- 
man being in the world whose superior 
importance to his own he had been 
ready, in his heart of hearts, to admit ; 
but it was needful that the outer signs 
of sorrow should be laid aside, and Em- 
ily Hotspur was taken up to London in 
order that she might be suited with a 
husband. That, in truth, was the rea- 
son of their going. Neither Sir Harry 
nor Lady Elizabeth would have cared 
to leave Cumberland had there been no 
such cause. They would have been al- 
together content to remain at home had 
Emily been obedient enough in the 
winter to accept the hand of the suitor 
proposed for her. 

The house was opened in Bruton 
street, and Lord Alfred came to see 
iS 



them. So also did Cousin George. 
There was no reason why Cousin George 
should not come. Indeed, had he not 
done so, he must have been the most 
ungracious of cousins. He came, and 
found Lady Elizabeth and Emily at 
home. Emily told him that they were 
always there to receive visitors on Sun- 
days after morning church, and then 
he came again. She had made no such 
communication to Lord Alfred, but then 
perhaps it would have been hardly 
natural that she should have done so. 
Lady Elizabeth, in a note which she had 
occasion to write to Lord Alfred, did 
tell him of her custom on a Sunday 
afternoon, but Lord Alfred took no such 
immediate advantage of the offer as did 
Cousin George. 

As regarded the outward appearance 
of their life, the Hotspurs were gayer 
this May than they had been heretofore 
when living in London. There were 
dinner-parties, whereas in previous 
times there had only been dinners at 
which a few friends might join them; 
and there was to be a ball. There was 
a box at the Opera, and there were 
horses for the Park, and there was an 
understanding that the dealings with 
Madame Milvodi, the milliner, were to be 
as unlimited as the occasion demanded. 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



*9 



It was perceived by every one that Miss 
Hotspur was to be settled in life. Not 
a few knew the story of Lord Alfred. 
Every one knew the facts of the prop- 
erty and Emily's position as heiress, 
though every one probably did not 
know that it was still in Sir Harry's 
power to leave every acre of the proper- 
ty to whom he pleased. Emily under- 
stood it all herself. There lay upon her 
that tenible responsibility of doing her 
best with the Hotspur interests. To her 
the death of her brother had at the 
time been the blackest of misfortunes, 
and it was not the less so now as she 
thought of her own position. She had 
been steady enough as to the refusal 
of Lord Alfred, knowing well enough 
that she cared nothing for him. But 
there had since come upon her moments 
almost of regret that she should have 
been unable to accept him. It would 
have been so easy a way of escape from 
all her troubles without the assistance 
of Madame Milvodi and the opera-box 
and the Park horses. At the time she 
had her own ideas about another man, 
but her ideas were not such as to make 
her think that any further work with 
Madame Milvodi and the opera-box 
would be unnecessary. 

Then came the question of asking 
Cousin George to the house. He had 
already been told to come on Sundays, 
and on the very next Sunday had been 
there. He had given no cause of offence 
at Humblethwaite, and Lady Elizabeth 
was of opinion that he should be asked 
to dinner. If he were not asked, the 
very omission would show that they 
were afraid of him. Lady Elizabeth 
did not exactly explain this to her hus- 
band, did not accurately know that such 
was her fear ; but Sir Harry understood 
her feelings and yielded. Let Cousin 
George be asked to dinner. 

Sir Harry at this time was vacillating 
with more of weakness than would have 
been expected from a man who had 
generally been so firm in the affairs of 
his life. He had been quite clear about 
George Hotspur when those inquiries 
of his were first made, and when his 
mind had first accepted the notion of 



Lord Alfred as his chosen son-in-law. 
But now he was again at sea. He was 
so conscious of the importance of his 
daughter's case that he could not bring 
himself to be at ease, and to allow him- 
self to expect that the girl would, in the 
ordinary course of nature, dispose of her 
young heart not to her own injury, as 
might reasonably be hoped from her 
temperament, her character and her 
education. He could not protect him- 
self from daily and hourly thought about 
it. Her marriage was not as the marriage 
of other girls. The house of Hotspur, 
which had lived and prospered for so 
many centuries, was to live and prosper 
through her ; or rather mainly through 
the man whom she should chose as her 
husband. The girl was all-important 
now, but when she should have once 
disposed of herself, her importance would 
be almost at an end. Sir Harry had in 
the recess of his mind almost a conviction 
that although the thing was of such 
utmost moment, it would be better for 
him, better for them all, better for the 
Hotspurs, that the matter should be 
allowed to arrange itself, than that there 
should be any special judgment used in 
selection. He almost believed that his 
girl should be left to herself, as are other 
girls. But the thing was of such mo- 
ment that he could not save himself 
from having it always before his eyes. 

And yet he knew not what to do, nor 
was there any aid forthcoming from 
Lady Elizabeth. He had tried his hand 
at the choice of a proper husband, and 
his daughter would have none of the 
man so chosen. So he had brought her 
up to London, and thrown her as it were 
upon the market. Let Madame Milvodi 
and the opera-box and the Park horses 
do what they could for her. Of course 
a watch should be kept on her — not 
from doubt of her excellence, but because 
the thing to be disposed of was so all- 
important, and the girl's mode of dis- 
posing of it might, without disgrace or 
fault on her part, be so vitally preju- 
dicial to the family. 

For, let it be remembered, no curled 
darling of an eldest son would suit the 
exigencies of the case, unless such eldest 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



son were willing altogether to merge 
the claims of his own family, and to 
make himself by name and purpose a 
Hotspur. Were his child to present to 
him as his son-in-law some heir to a 
noble house, some future earl, say even 
a duke in embryo, all that would be as 
nothing to Sir Harry. It was not his 
ambition to see his daughter a duchess. 
He wanted no name or place or domin- 
ion for any Hotspur greater or higher 
or more noble than that which the 
Hotspurs claimed and could maintain 
for themselves. To have Humblethwaite 
and Scarrowby lost amidst the vast 
appanages and domains of some titled 
family, whose gorgeous glories were new 
and paltry in comparison with the mel- 
low honors of his own house, would to 
him have been a ruin to all his hopes. 
There might, indeed, be some arrange- 
ment in the second son proceeding from 
such a marriage — as to a future chance 
Hotspur ; but the claims of the Hot- 
spurs were, he thought, too high and too 
holy for such future chance ; and in such 
case, for one generation at least, the 
Hotspurs would be in abeyance. No : 
it was not that which he desired. That 
would not suffice for him. The son-in- 
law that he desired should be well born, 
a perfect gentleman, with belongings of 
whom he and his child might be proud ; 
but he should be one who should be 
content to rest his claims to material 
prosperity and personal position on the 
name and wealth that he would obtain 
with his wife. Lord Alfred had been 
the very man, but then his girl would 
have none of Lord Alfred. Eldest sons 
there might be in plenty ready to take 
such a bride ; and were some eldest son 
to come to him and ask for his daughter's 
hand — some eldest son who would do so 
almost with a right to claim it if the 
girl's consent were gained — how could 
he refuse ? And yet to leave a Hotspur 
behind him living at Humblethwaite, 
and Hotspurs who should follow that 
Hotspur, was all in all to him. 

Might he venture to think once again 
of Cousin George ? Cousin George was 
there, coming to the house, and his wife 
was telling him that it was incumbent 



on them to ask the young man to din- 
ner. It was incumbent on them, 
unless they meant to let him know 
that he was to be regarded absolutely 
as a stranger — as one whom they had 
taken up for a while, and now chose 
to drop again. A very ugly story had 
reached Sir Harry's ears about Cousin 
George. It was said that he had twice 
borrowed money from the money-lenders 
on his commission, passing some docu- 
ment for security of its value which was 
no security, and that he had barely 
escaped detection, the two Jews know- 
ing that the commission would be 
forfeited altogether if the fraud were 
brought to light. The commission had 
been sold and the proceeds divided 
between the Jews, with certain remain- 
ing claims to them on Cousin George's 
personal estate. Such had been the 
story which in a vague way had reached 
Sir Harry's ears. It is not easily that 
such a man as Sir Harry can learn the 
details of a disreputable cousin's life. 
Among all his old friends he had none 
more dear to him than Lord Milnthorpe ; 
and among his younger friends none 
more intimate than Lord Burton, the 
eldest son of Lord Milnthorpe, Lord 
Alfred's brother. Lord Burton had told 
Jiim the story, telling him at the same 
time that he could not vouch for its 
truth. "Upon my word, I don't know," 
said Lord Burton, when interrogated 
again. " I think if I were you I would 
regard it as though I had never heard it. 
Of course he was in debt." 

"That is altogether another thing," 
said Sir Harry. 

"Altogether. I think that probably 
he did pawn his commission. That is 
bad, but it isn't so very bad. As for 
the other charge against him, I doubt 
it." So said Lord Burton, and Sir 
Harry determined that the accusation 
should go for nothing. 

But his own child, his only child, the 
transmitter of all the great things that 
fortune had given to him — she in whose 
hands were to lie the glories of Humble- 
thwaite and Scarrowby — she who had 
the giving away of the honor of their 
ancient family — could she be trusted 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



21 



to one of whom it must be admitted 
that all his early life had been dis- 
reputable, even if the world's lenient 
judgment in such matters should fail to 
stigmatize it as dishonorable ? In other 
respects, however, he was so manifestly 
the man to whom his daughter ought to 
be given in marriage. By such arrange- 
ment would the title and the property 
be kept together ; and by no other 
which Sir Harry could now make, for 
his word had been given to his daughter 
that she was to be his heiress. Let 
him make what arrangements he might, 
this cousin George at his death would 
be the head of the family. Every, 
Peerage that was printed would tell 
the old story to all the world. By 
certain courtesies of the law of de- 
scent his future heirs would be Hot- 
spurs, were his daughters married to 
Lord Alfred or the like ; but the chil- 
dren of such a marriage would not be 
Hotspurs in very truth nor by any 
courtesy of law, or even by any kind- 
ness of the minister or sovereign could 
the child of such a union become the 
baronet, the Sir Harry of the day, the 
head of the family. The position was 
one which no sovereign and no minister 
could achieve, or touch, or bestow. It 
was his, beyond the power of any earthly 
potentate to deprive him of it, and 
could have been transmitted by him to 
a son with as absolute security. But — 
alas ! alas ! 

Sir Harry gave no indication that he 
thought it expedient to change his mind 
on the subject. When Lady Elizabeth 
proposed that Cousin George should be 
asked to dinner, he frowned and looked 
black as he acceded ; but in truth he 
vacillated. The allurements on that 
side were so great that he could not al- 
together force upon himself the duty of 
throwing them from him. He knew 
that Cousin George was no fitting hus- 
band for his girl — that he was a man to 
whom he would not have thought of 
giving her had her happiness been his 
only object. And he did not think of 
so bestowing her now. He became un- 
easy when he remembered the danger. 
He was unhappy as he remembered 



how amusing, how handsome, how at- 
tractive was Cousin George. He feared 
that Emily might like him — by no 
means hoped it. And yet he vacillated, 
and allowed Cousin George to come to 
the house only because Cousin George 
must become, on his death, the head 
of the Hotspurs. 

Cousin George came on one Sunday, 
came on another Sunday, dined at the 
house, and was of course asked to the 
ball. But Lady Elizabeth had so ar- 
ranged her little affairs that when Cou- 
sin George left Bruton street on the 
evening of the dinner-party he and Em- 
ily had never been for two minutes alone 
together since the family had come up 
to London. Lady Elizabeth herself 
liked Cousin George, and, had an edict 
to that effect been pronounced by her 
husband, would have left them alone 
together with great maternal satisfaction. 
But she had been told that it was not to 
be so, and therefore the young people 
had never been allowed to have oppor- 
tunities. Lady Elizabeth in her very 
quiet way knew how to do the work of 
the world that was allotted to her. There 
had been other balls, and there had 
been ridings in the Park, and all the 
chances of life which young men, and 
sometimes young women also, know so 
well how to use ; but hitherto Cousin 
George had kept, or had been constrain- 
ed to keep, his distance. 

" I want to know, mamma," said 
Emily Hotspur, the day before the ball, 
"whether Cousin George is a black 
sheep or a white sheep ?" 

"What do you mean, my dear, by 
asking such a question as that ?" 

" I don't like black sheep. I don't 
see why young men are to be allowed 
to be black sheep ; but yet you know 
they are." 

" How can it be helped ?" 

" People should not notice them." 

" My dear, it is a most difficult ques- 
tion — quite beyond me, and I am sure 
beyond you : a sheep needn't be black 
always because he has not always been 
quite white ; and then, you know, the 
black lambs are just as dear to their 
mother as the white." 



22 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



"Dearer, I think." 

"I quite agree with you, Emily, that 
in general society black sheep should 
be avoided." 

" Then they shouldn't be allowed to 
come in," said Emily. 

Lady Elizabeth knew from this that 
there was danger, but the danger was 
not of a kind which enabled her spe- 
cially to consult Sir Harry. 



CHAPTER V. 
GEORGE HOTSPUR. 

A little must now be told to the 
reader of Cousin George and the ways 
of his life. As Lady Elizabeth had said 
to her daughter, that question of ad- 
mitting black sheep into society or of 
refusing them admittance is very diffi- 
cult. In the first place, whose eyes are 
good enough to know whether in truth 
a sheep be black or not ? And then is 
it not the fact that some little amount 
of shade in the fleece of male sheep is 
considered, if not absolutely desirable, 
at any rate quite pardonable ? A male 
sheep with a fleece as white as that of 
a ewe-lamb, is he not considered to 
be, among muttons, somewhat insipid ? 
It was this taste of which Pope was 
conscious when he declared that every 
woman was at heart a rake. And so it 
comes to pass that very black sheep 
indeed are admitted into society, till at 
last anxious fathers and more anxious 
mothers begin to be aware that their 
young ones are turned out to graze among 
ravenous wolves. This, however, must 
be admitted, that lambs when so treated 
acquire a courage which tends to enable 
them to hold their own, even amidst 
wolfish dangers. 

Cousin George, if not a ravenous wolf, 
was at any rate a very black sheep in- 
deed. In our anxiety to know the truth 
of him it must not be said that he was 
absolutely a wolf — not as yet, because 
in his career he had not as yet made 
premeditated attempts to devour prey. 
But in the process of delivering himself 
up to be devoured by others he had 
done things which if known of any 



sheep should prevent that sheep from 
being received into a decent flock. 
There had been a little trouble about 
his commission, in which, although he 
had not intended to cheat either Jew, he 
had done that which the world would 
have called cheating had the world 
known it. As for getting goods from 
tradesmen without any hope or thought 
of paying for them, that with him was 
so much a thing of custom — as indeed 
it was also with them — that he was al- 
most to be excused for considering it 
the normal condition of life for a man 
in his position. To gamble and lose 
money had come to him quite naturally 
at a very early age. There had now 
come upon him an idea that he might 
turn the tables, that in all gambling 
transactions some one must win, and 
that as he had lost much, so possibly 
might he now win more. He had not 
quite yet reached that point in his edu- 
cation at which the gambler learns that 
the ready way to win much is to win 
unfairly — not quite yet, but he was near 
it. The wolfhood was coming on him, 
unless some good fortune might save 
him. There might, however, be such 
good fortune in store for him. As Lady 
Elizabeth had said, a sheep that was 
very dark in color might become white 
again. If it be not so, what is all this 
doctrine of repentance in which we 
believe ? 

Blackness in a male sheep in regard 
to the other sin is venial blackness. 
Whether the teller of such a tale as 
this should say so outright, may be 
matter of dispute ; but unless he say 
so the teller of this tale does not know 
how to tell his tale truly. Blackness 
such as that will be all condoned, and 
the sheep received into almost any flock, 
on condition, not of repentance or hu- 
miliation or confession, but simply of 
change of practice. The change of prac- 
tice in certain circumstances and at a 
certain period becomes expedient, and 
if it be made, as regards tints in the 
wool of that nature the sheep becomes 
as white as he is needed to be. In this 
respect our sheep had been as black as 
any sheep, and at this present period of 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBIETHWAITE. 



2 3 



nis life had need of much change before 
he would be fit for any decent social 
herding. 

And then there are the shades of 
black which come from conviviality — 
which we may call table blackness — as 
to which there is an opinion constantly 
disseminated by the moral newspapers 
of the day that there has come to be 
altogether an end of any such blackness 
among sheep who are gentlemen. To 
make up for this, indeed, there has been 
expressed by the piquant newspapers of 
the day an opinion that ladies are taking 
up the game which gentlemen no longer 
care to play. It may be doubted whether 
either expression has in it much of truth. 
We do not see ladies drunk, certainly, 
and we do not see gentlemen tumbling 
about as they used to do, because their 
fashion of drinking is not that of their 
grandfathers. But the love of wine 
has not gone out from among men, and 
men now are as prone as ever to indulge 
their lives. Our black sheep was very 
fond of wine, and also of brandy, though 
he was wolf enough to hide his taste 
when occasion required it. 

Very early in life he had come from 
France to live in England, and had been 
placed in a cavalry regiment, which had, 
unfortunately for him, been quartered 
either in London or its vicinity. And, 
perhaps equally unfortunate for him, he 
had in his own possession a small for- 
tune of some five hundred pounds a 
year. This had not come to him from 
his father, and when his father had died 
in Paris, about two years before the date 
of our story, he had received no acces- 
sion of regular income. Some couple of 
thousand of pounds had reached his 
hands from his father's effects, which 
had helped him through some of the 
immediately pressing difficulties of the 
day, for his own income at that time 
had been altogether dissipated. And 
now he had received a much larger sum 
from his cousin, with an assurance, 
however, that the family property would 
not become his when he succeeded to 
the family title. He was so penniless 
at the time, so prone to live from hand 
to mouth, so little given to considera- 



tion of the future, that it may be 
doubted whether the sum given to him 
was not compensation in full for all 
that was to be withheld from him. 

Still, there was his chance with the 
heiress. In regarding this chance He 
had very soon determined that he would 
marry his cousin if it might be within 
his power to do so. He knew, and fully 
appreciated, his own advantages. He 
was a very handsome man — tall for a 
Hotspur, but with the Hotspur fair 
hair and blue eyes and well-cut features. 
There lacked, however, to him, that 
peculiar aspect of firmness about the 
temples which so strongly marked the 
countenance of Sir Harry and his 
daughter ; and there had come upon him 
a blase look, and certain outer signs of a 
bad life, which, however, did not mar 
his beauty, nor were they always ap- 
parent. The eye was not always blood- 
shot, nor was the hand constantly seen 
to shake. It may be said of him, both 
as to his moral and physical position, that 
he was on the edge of the precipice of 
degradation, but that there was yet a 
possibility of salvation. 

He was living in a bachelor's set of 
rooms, at this time, in St. James' street, 
for which it must be presumed that 
ready money was required. During the 
last winter he had horses in Northamp- 
tonshire, for the hire of which, it must 
be feared, his prospects as heir to Hum- 
blethwaite had in some degree been 
pawned. At the present time he had a 
horse for Park riding, and he looked 
upon a good dinner, with good wine, as 
being due to him every day as thoroughly 
as though he earned it. That he had 
never attempted to earn a shilling since 
the day on which he had ceased to be a 
soldier, now four years since, the reader 
will hardly require to be informed. 

In spite of all his faults, this man 
enjoyed a certain social popularity for 
which many a rich man would have 
given a third of his income. Dukes 
and duchesses were fond of him ; and 
certain persons standing very high in 
the world did not think certain parties 
were perfect without him. He knew 
how to talk enough, and yet not to talk 



24 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



too much. No one could say of him 
that he was witty, well read or given to 
much thinking ; but he knew just what 
was wanted at this hunting-town or at 
that, and could give it. He could put 
himself forward, and could keep him- 
self in the background. He could shoot 
well, without wanting to shoot best. He 
could fetch and carry, but still do it al- 
ways with an air of manly independ- 
ence. He could subserve, without an 
air of cringing. And then he looked 
like a gentleman. 

Of all his well-to-do friends, perhaps 
he who really liked him best was the 
Earl of Allingham. George Hotspur 
was at this time something under thirty 
years of age, and the earl was four years 
his senior. The earl was a married 
man, with a family, a wife who also 
liked poor George, an enormous in- 
come, and a place in Scotland at which 
George always spent the three first 
weeks of grouse-shooting. The earl 
was a kindly, good-humored, generous, 
but yet hard man of the world. He 
knew George Hotspur well, and would 
on no account lend him a shilling. He 
would not have given his friend money 
to extricate him from any difficulty. 
But he forgave the sinner all his sins, 
opened Castle Corry to him every year, 
provided him with the best of every- 
thing, and let him come and dine at 
Allingham House, in Carlton Gardens, 
as often almost as he chose during the 
London season. The earl was very 
good to George, though he knew more 
about him than perhaps did any other 
man ; but he would not bet with George, 
nor would he in any way allow George 
to make money out of him. 

" Do you suppose that I want to win 
money of you ?" he once said to our 
friend, in answer to a little proposition 
that was made to him at Newmarket. 
" I don't suppose you do," George had 
answered. "Then you may be sure 
that I don't want to lose any," the earl 
had replied. And so the matter was 
ended, and George made no more prop- 
ositions of the kind. 

The two men were together at Tatter- 
sail's, looking at some horses which the 



earl had sent up to be sold, the day after 
the dinner in Bruton street. 

"Sir Harry seems to be taking to you 
very kindly," said the earl. 

"Well, yes — in a half-and-half sort 
of way." 

" It isn't everybody that would give 
you five thousand pounds, you know." 

"I am not everybody's heir," said 
George. 

" No ; and you ain't his — worse luck." 

" I am — in regard to the title." 

" What good will that do you ?" 

"When he's gone I shall be the head 
of the family. As far as I can under- 
stand these matters, he hasn't a right to 
leave the estates away from me." 

" Power is right, my boy. Legal pow- 
er is undoubtedly right." 

" He should at any rate divide them. 
There are two distinct properties, and 
either of them would make me a rich 
man. I don't feel so very much obliged 
to him for his money, though of course 
it was convenient." 

"Very convenient, I should say, 
George. How do you get on with your 
cousin?" 

"They watch me like a cat watches a 
mouse." 

"Say a rat, rather, George. Don't 
you know they are right ? Would not 
I do the same if she were my girl, 
knowing you as I do ?" 

"She might do worse, my lord." 

"I'll tell you what it is. He thinks 
that he might do worse. I don't doubt 
about that. All this matter of the fam- 
ily and the title and the name would 
make him ready to fling her to you, if 
only you were a shade less dark a horse 
than you are." 

" I don't know that I'm darker than 
others." 

" Look here, old fellow : I don't often 
trouble you with advice, but I will now. 
If you'll set yourself steadily to work to 
live decently, if you'll tell Sir Harry the 
whole truth about your money matters, 
and really get into harness, I believe 
you may have her. Such a one as you 
never had such a chance before. But 
there's one thing you must do." 

"What is the one thing?" 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



25 



" Wash your hands altogether of Mrs. 
Morton. You'll have a difficulty, I 
know, and perhaps it will want more 
pluck than you've got : you haven't got 
pluck of that kind." 

"You mean that I don't like to break 
a woman's heart?" 

" Fiddlesticks ! Do you see that mare 
there ?" 

"I was just looking at her. Why 
should you part with her ?" 

"She was the best animal in my 
stables, but she's given to eating the 
stable-boys : old Badger told me, flat, 
that he wouldn't have her in the stables 
any longer. I pity the fellow who will 
buy her — or rather his fellow. She 
killed a lad once in Bessborough's 
stables." 

"Why don't you shoot her?" 

" I can't afford to shoot horses, Cap- 
tain Hotspur. I had my chance in 
buying her, and somebody else must have 
his chance now. That's the lot of them — 
one or two good ones, and the rest what 
I call rags. Do you think of what I've 
said; and be sure of this — Mrs. Morton 
and your cousin can't go on together. 
Ta, ta! I'm going across to my mother's." 

George Hotspur, when he was left 
alone, did think a great deal about it. 
He was not a man prone to assure him- 
self of a lady's favor without cause ; 
and yet he did think that his cousin liked 
him. As to that terrible difficulty to 
which Lord Allingham had alluded, he 
knew that something must be done ; 
but there were cruel embarrassments on 
that side of which even Allingham knew 
nothing. And then why should he do 
that which his friend had indicated to 
him before he knew whether it would be 
necessary ? As to taking Sir Harry al- 
together into his confidence about his 
money matters, that was clearly impossi- 
ble. Heaven and earth ! How could 
the one man speak such truths, or the 
other man listen to them ? When 
money difficulties come of such nature 
as those which weighted the shoulders 
of poor George Hotspur, it is quite im- 
possible that there should be any such 
confidence with any one. The sufferer 
cannot even make a confidant of him- 



self—cannot even bring himself to look 
at his own troubles massed together. 
It was not the amount of his debts, but 
the nature of them and the characters 
of the men with whom he had dealings, 
that were so terrible. Fifteen thousand 
pounds — less than one year's income 
from Sir Harry's property — would clear 
him of everything, as far as he could 
judge; but there could be no such 
clearing, otherwise than by money dis- 
bursed by himself, without a disclosure 
of dirt which he certainly would not 
dare to make to Sir Harry before his 
marriage. 

But yet the prize to be won was so 
great, and there were so many reasons 
for thinking that it might possibly be 
within his grasp ! If, after all, he might 
live to be Sir George Hotspur of Hum- 
blethwaite and Scarrowby ! After think- 
ing of it as well as he could, he deter- 
mined that he would make the attempt, 
but as to those preliminaries to which 
Lord Allingham had referred, he would 
for the present leave them to chance. 

Lord Allingham had been quite right 
when he told George Hotspur that he 
was deficient in a certain kind of pluck. 



CHAPTER VI. 
THE BALL IN BRUTON STREET. 

Sir Harry vacillated, Lady Eliza- 
beth doubted, and Cousin George was 
allowed to come to the ball. At this 
time, in the common understanding of 
such phrase, Emily Hotspur was heart- 
whole in regard to her cousin. Had 
she been made to know that he had 
gone away for ever — been banished to 
some antipodes from which he never 
could return — there would have been 
no lasting sorrow on her part, though 
there might have been some feeling 
which would have given her an ache 
for the moment. She had thought 
about him, as girls will think of men 
as to whom they own to themselves that 
it is possible that they may be in love 
with them some day ; and she liked him 
much. She also liked Lord Alfred, but 
the liking had been altogether of a dif- 



z6 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



ferent kind. In regard to Lord Alfred, 
she had been quite sure, from the first 
days of her intercourse with him, that 
she could never be in love with him. 
He was to her no more than old Mr. 
Crutchley or young Mr. Latheby — a 
man, and. a good sort of man, but no 
more than a man. To worship Lord 
Alfred must be impossible to her. She 
had already conceived that it would be 
quite possible for her to worship her 
Cousin George in the teeth of all the 
hard things that she had heard of him. 
The reader may be sure that such a 
thought had passed through her mind 
when she asked her mother whether 
Cousin George was to be accepted as a 
black sheep or a white one. 

The ball was a very grand affair, and 
Emily Hotspur was a very great lady. 
It had come to be understood that the 
successful suitor for her hand would be 
the future lord of Humblethwaite, and 
the power with which she was thus 
vested gave her a prestige and standing 
which can hardly be attained by mere 
wit and beauty, even when most per- 
fectly combined. It was not that all 
\vl~o worshiped, either at a distance or 
with passing homage, knew the fact of 
the heiress-ship, or had ever heard of the 
twenty thousand a year ; but given the 
status, arid the worshipers will come. 
The word had gone forth in some mys- 
terious way, and it was acknowledged 
that Emily Hotspur was a great young 
lady. Other young ladies, who were 
not great, allowed themselves to be 
postponed to her almost without jeal- 
ousy, and young gentlemen without pre- 
tensions regarded her as one to whom 
they did not dare to ask to be intro- 
duced. Emily saw it all, and partly 
liked it and partly despised it. But even 
when despising it she took advantage 
of it. The young gentlemen without 
pretensions were no more to her than 
the chairs and tables ; and the young 
ladies who submitted to her and adored 
her were allowed to be submissive and 
to adore. But of this she' was quite.sure 
— thaf her cousin George must some 
day be the head of her own family : he 
was a man whom she was bound to 



treat with attentive regard if they who 
had the custody of her chose to place 
her in his company at all. 

At this ball there were some very 
distinguished people indeed — persons 
whom it would hardly be improper to 
call illustrious. There were two royal 
duchesses — one of whom was English — 
and no less than three princes. The 
Russian and French ambassadors were 
both there. There was the editor of the 
most influential newspaper of the day, 
for a few minutes only ; and the prime 
minister passed through the room in the 
course of the evening. Dukes and 
duchesses below the royal degree were 
common ; and as for earls and coun- 
tesses, and their daughters, they formed 
the ruck of the crowd. The poet-lau- 
reate didn't come indeed, but was ex- 
pected ; and three Chinese mandarins 
of the first quality entered the room at 
eleven, and did not leave till one. Poor 
Lady Elizabeth suffered a great deal 
with those mandarins. From all this 
it will be seen that the ball was quite a 
success. 

George Hotspur dined that day with 
Lord and Lady Allingham, and went 
with them to the ball in the evening. 
Lord Allingham, though his manner 
was airy and almost indifferent, was in 
truth most anxious that his friend should 
be put upon his feet by the marriage ; 
and the countess was so keen about it 
that there was nothing in the way of in- 
nocent intrigue which she would not 
have done to accomplish it. She knew 
that George Hotspur was a rake, was a 
gambler, was in debt, was hampered 
by other difficulties, and all the rest of 
it; but she liked the man, and was 
therefore willing to believe that a rich 
marriage would put it all right. Emily 
Hotspur was nothing to her, nor was 
Sir Harry ; but George had often made 
her own house pleasant to her, and 
therefore, to her thinking, deserved a 
wife with twenty thousand a year. And 
then, if there might have been scruples 
under other circumstances, that fact of 
the baronetcy overcame them. It could 
not be wrong in one placed as was Lady 
Allingham to assist in preventing any 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBIETHWAITE. 



27 



separation of the title and the property. 
Of course George might probably squan- 
der all that he could squander, but that 
might be made right by settlements and 
entails. Lady Allingham was much 
more energetic than her husband, and 
had made out quite a plan of the man- 
ner in which George should proceed. 
She discussed the matter with him at 
great length. The one difficulty she 
was, indeed, obliged to slur over, but 
even that was not altogether omitted in 
her scheme. " Whatever encumbrances 
there may be, free yourself from them 
at once," she had advised. 

"That is so very easy to say, Lady 
Allingham, but so difficult to do." 

" As to debts, of course they can't be 
paid without money. Sir Harry will 
find it worth his while to settle any 
debts. But if there is anything else, 
stop it at once." Of course there was 
something else, and of course Lady 
Allingham knew what that something 
else was. She demanded, in accord- 
ance with her scheme, that George 
should lose no time. This was in May. 
It was known that Sir Harry intended to 
leave town early in June. " Of course 
you will take him at his word, and go 
to Humblethwaite when you leave us," 
she had said. 

"No time has been named." 

"Then you can name your own with- 
out difficulty. You will write from 
Castle Corry, and say you are coming. 
That is, if it's not all settled by that 
time. Of course it cannot be done in a 
minute, because Sir Harry must consent ; 
but I should begin at once ; — only, Cap- 
tain Hotspur, leave nothing for them to 
find out afterward. What is past they 
will forgive." Such had been Lady 
Allingham's advice, and no doubt she 
understood the matter which she had 
been discussing. 

When George Hotspur entered the 
room his cousin was dancing with a 
prince. He could see her as he stood 
speaking a few words to Lady Eliza- 
beth. And in talking to Lady Eliza- 
beth he did not talk as a stranger would, 
or a common guest. He had quite un- 
derstood all that he might gain by as- 



suming the intimacy of cousinhood, 
and had assumed it. Lady Elizabeth 
was less weary than before when he 
stood by her, and accepted from his 
hand some little trifle of help which 
was agreeable to her. And he showed 
himself in no hurry, and told her some 
little story that pleased her. What a 
pity it was that Cousin George should 
be a scamp ! she thought as he went on 
to greet Sir Harry. 

And with Sir Harry he remained a 
minute or two. On such an occasion 
as this Sir Harry was all smiles, and 
quite willing to hear a little town gossip. 
" Come with the Allinghams, have you ? 
I'm told Allingham has just sold all his 
horses. What's the meaning of that ?" 

"The old story, Sir Harry. He has 
weeded his stable, and got the buyers 
to think that they were getting the 
cream. There isn't a man in England 
knows better what he's about than 
Allingham." 

Sir Harry smiled his sweetest, and 
answered with some good-humored re- 
mark, but he said in his heart that 
"birds of a feather flock together," and 
that his cousin was — not a man of 
honor. 

There are some things that no rogue 
can do. He can understand what it is 
to condemn roguery, to avoid it, to dis- 
like it, to disbelieve in it ; but he can- 
not understand what it is to hate it. 
Cousin George had probably exagge- 
rated the transaction of which he had 
spoken, but he had little thought that 
in doing so he had helped to imbue Sir 
Harry with a true idea of his own cha- 
racter. 

George passed on and saw his cousin, 
who was now standing up with a foreign 
ambassador. He just spoke to her as 
he passed her, calling her by her Chris- 
tian name as he did so. She gave him 
her hand ever so graciously; and he, 
when he had gone on, returned and 
asked her to name a dance. 

" But I don't think I've one left that 
I mean to dance," she said. 

"Then give me one that you don't 
mean to dance," he answered. And of 
course she gave it to him. 



28 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



It was an hour afterward that he 
came to claim her promise, and she put 
her arm through his and stood up with 
him. There was no talk then of her 
not dancing, and she went whirling 
round the room with him in great bliss. 
Cousin George waltzed well. All such 
men do. It is a part of their stock-in- 
trade. On this evening Emily Hotspur 
thought that he waltzed better than any- 
one else, and told him so. "Another 
turn ? Of course I will with you, be- 
cause you know what you're about." 

"I'd blush if I'd time," said he. 

"A great many gentlemen ought to 
blush, I know. That prince — whose 
name I always forget — and you are the 
only men in the room who dance well, 
according to my ideas." 

Then off they went again, and Emily 
was very happy. He could at least dance 
well-: there could be no reason why he 
should not enjoy dancing well, since he 
had been considered to be white enough 
to be asked to the ball. 

But with George there was present at 
every turn and twist of the dance an 
idea that he was there for other work 
than that. He was hunting a head of 
game after which there would be many 
hunters. He had his advantages, and so 
would they have theirs. One of his was 
this — that he had her there with him 
now, and he must use it. She would 
not fall into his mouth merely by being 
whirled round the room pleasantly. At 
last she was still, and consented to take 
a walk with him out of the room — some- 
where out amidst the crowd on the stair- 
case if possible, so as to get a breath of 
fresh air. Of course he soon had her 
jammed into a corner out of which there 
was no immediate mode of escape. 

"We shall never get away again," 
she said, laughing. Had she wanted 
to get away her tone and manner would 
have been very different. 

" I wonder whether you feel yourself 
to be the same sort of person here that 
you are at Humblethwaite ?" he said. 

"Exactly the same." 

"To me you seem to be so different." 

" In what way ?" 

"I don't think vou are half so nice." 



" How very unkind !" 

Of course she was flattered. Of all 
flattery, praise is the coarsest and least 
efficacious. When you would flatter a 
man, talk to him about himself and crit- 
icise him, pulling him to pieces by com- 
parison of some small present fault with 
his past conduct ; and the rule holds 
the same with a woman. To tell her 
that she looks well is feeble work ; but 
complain to her woefully that there is 
something wanting at the present mo- 
ment, something lacking from the usual 
high standard, some temporary loss of 
beauty, and your solicitude will prevail 
with her. 

"And in what am I not nice ? I am 
sure I'm trying to be as nice as I know 
how." 

"Down at Humblethwaite you are 
simply yourself — Emily Hotspur." 

"And what am I here ?" 

"That formidable thing — a success. 
Don't you feel yourself that you are 
lifted a little off your legs ?" 

"Not a bit — not an inch. Why 
should I ?" 

" I fail to make you understand quite 
what I mean. Don't you feel that with 
all these princes and potentates you are 
forced to be something else than your 
natural self? Don't you know that you 
have to put on a special manner and to 
talk in a special way ? Does not the 
champagne fly to your head, more or 
less?" 

" Of course the princes and potentates 
are not the same as old Mrs. Crutchley, 
if you mean that." 

"I am not blaming you, you know, 
only I cannot help being very anxious ; 
and I found you so perfect at Humble- 
thwaite that I cannot say that I like 
any change. You know I am to come 
to Humblethwaite again ?" 

"Of course you are." 

"You go down next month, I be- 
lieve ?" 

"Papa talks of going to Scarrowby 
for a few weeks. He always does even- 
year, and it is so dull. Did you ever 
see Scarrowby ?" 

"Never." 

" You ought to come there some day: 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



29 



you know one branch of the Hotspurs 
did live there for ever so long." 

" Is it a good house ?" 

" Very bad indeed, but there are enor- 
mous woods, and the country is very 
wild, and everything is at sixes and 
sevens. However, of course you would 
not come, because it is in the middle of 
your London season. There would be 
ever so many things to keep you. You 
are a man who, I suppose, never was 
out of London in your life, unless some 
race-meeting was going on." 

" Do you really take me for such as 
that, Emily ?" 

"Yes, I do. That is what they tell 
me you are. Is it not true ? Don't you 
go to races ?" 

" I should be quite willing to under- 
take never to put my foot on a race- 
course again this month. I will do so 
now if you will only ask it of me." 

She paused a moment, half thinking 
that she would ask it, but at last she 
determined against it. 

"No," she said: "if you think it 
proper to stay away, you can do so 
without my asking it. I have no right 
to make such a request. If you think 
races are bad, why don't you stay away 
of your own accord ?" 

"They are bad," he said. 

"Then why do you go to them ?" 

"They are bad, and I do go to them. 
They are very bad, and I go to them 
very often. But I will stay away and 
never put my foot on another race-course 
if you, my cousin, will ask me." 

"That is nonsense." 

"Try me. It shall not be nonsense. 
If you care enough about me to wish to 
save me from what is evil, you can do 
it. I care enough about you to give up 
the pursuit at your bidding." 

As he said this he looked down into 
her eyes, and she knew that the full 
weight of his gaze was upon her. She 
knew that his words and his look to- 
gether were intended to impress her 
with some feeling of his love for her. 
She knew at the moment, too, that they 
gratified her. And she remembered 
also in the same moment that her 
cousin George was a black sheep. 



" If you cannot refrain from what is 
bad without my asking you," she said, 
"your refraining will do no good." 

He was making her some answer when 
she insisted on being taken away. " I 
must get into the dancing-room : I must, 
indeed, George. I have already thrust 
over some poor wretch. No, not yet, 
I see, however : I was not engaged for 
the quadrille ; but I must go and look 
after the people." 

He led her back through the crowd, 
and as he did so he perceived that Sir 
Harry's eyes were fixed upon him. He 
did not much care for that. If he could 
carry his cousin Emily, he thought that 
he might carry the baronet also. 

He could not get any special word 
with her again that night. He asked 
her for another dance, but she would not 
grant it to him. " You forget the princes 
and potentates to whom I have to at- 
tend," she said to him, quoting his own 
words. 

He did not blame her, even to him- 
self; judging by the importance which 
he attached to every word of private 
conversation which he could have with 
her that she found it to be equally im- 
portant. It was something gained that 
she should know that he was thinking 
of her. He could not be to her now 
like any cousin, or any other man with 
whom she might dance three or four 
times without meaning anything. As 
he was aware of it, so must she be ; and 
he was glad that she should feel that it 
was so. 

" Emily tells me that you are going to 
Scarrowby next month," he said after- 
ward to Sir Harry. 

Sir Harry frowned, and answered him 
very shortly: "Yes, we shall go there 
in June." 

" Is it a large place ?" 

" Large ? How do you mean ? It is 
a good property." 

" But the house ?" 

" The house is quite large enough for 
us," said Sir Harry; "but we do not 
have company there." 

This was said in a very cold tone, and 
there was nothing more to be added. 
George, to do him justice, had not been 



3° 



SIX HA XX Y HOTSPUX OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



fishing for an invitation to Scarrowby. 
He had simply been making conversa- 
tion with the baronet. It would not 
have suited him to go to Scarrowby, 
because by doing so he would have lost 
the power of renewing his visit to Hum- 
blethwaite. But Sir Harry in this inter- 
view had been so very ungracious — and 
as George knew very well because of 
the scene in the corner — that there might 
be a doubt whether he would ever get 
to Humblethwaite at all. If he failed, 
however, it should not be for the want 
of audacity on his own part. 



But, in truth, Sir Harry's blackness 
was still the result of vacillation. Though 
he would fain redeem this prodigal if 
it were possible, and give him every- 
thing that was to be given, yet when 
he saw the prodigal attempting to help 
himself to the good things, his wrath 
was aroused. George Hotspur, as he 
betook himself from Bruton street to 
such other amusements as were at his 
command, meditated much over his 
position. He thought he could give up 
the race-courses, but at any rate he could 
say that he would give them up, 




SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITR. 



31 



PART III. 



CHAPTER VII. 

LADY ALLINGHAM. 

THERE was one more meeting be- 
tween Cousin George and Emily- 
Hotspur before Sir Harry left London 
with his wife and daughter. On the 
Sunday afternoon following the ball he 
called in Bruton street, and found Lord 
Alfred there. He knew that Lord Alfred 
had been refused, and felt it to be a 
matter of course that the suit would be 
pressed again. Nevertheless, he was 
quite free from animosity to Lord Alfred. 
He could see at a glance that there was 
no danger for him on that side. Lord 
Alfred was talking to Lady Elizabeth 
when he entered, and Emily was en- 
gaged with a bald-headed old gentle- 
man with a little ribbon and a star. 
The bald-headed old gentleman soon 
departed, and then Cousin George, in 
some skillfully indirect way, took an 
opportunity of letting Emily know that 
he should not go to Goodwood this July. 

"Not go to Goodwood!" said she, 
pretending to laugh. " It will be most 
unnatural, will it not ? They'll hardly 
start the horses without you, I should 
think." 

"They'll have to start them without 
me, at any rate." Of course she under- 
stood what he meant, and understood 
also why he had told her. But if his 
promise were true, so much good had 
been done ; and she sincerely believed 
that it was true. In what way could 
he make love to her better than by 
refraining from his evil ways for the 
. sake of pleasing her ? Other bald- 
headed old gentlemen and bewigged 
old ladies came in, and he had not 
time for another word. He bade her 
adieu, saying nothing now of his hope 
of meeting her in the autumn, and was 
very affectionate in his farewell to Lady 
Elizabeth : " I don't suppose I shall see 



Sir Harry before he starts. Say ' good- 
bye ' for me." 

" I will, George." 

" I am so sorry you are going. It has 
been so jolly, coming in here of a Sun- 
day, Lady Elizabeth ; and you have 
been so good to me. I wish Scarrowby 
was at the bottom of the sea." 

" Sir Harry wouldn't like that at all." 

" I dare say not. And as such places 
must be, I suppose they ought to be 
looked after. Only why in June ? 
Good-bye J We shall meet again some 
day." But not a word was said about 
Humblethwaite in September. He did 
not choose to mention the prospect of 
his autumn visit, and she did not dare 
to do so. Sir Harry had not renewed 
the offer, and she would not venture to 
do so in Sir Harry's absence. 

June passed away — as Junes do pass 
in London — very gayly in appearance, 
very quickly in reality, with a huge out- 
lay of money and an enormous amount 
of disappointment. Young ladies would 
not accept, and young men would not 
propose. Papas became cross and 
stingy, and mammas insinuated that 
daughters were misbehaving. The 
daughters fought their own battles, and 
became tired in the fighting of them, 
and many a one had declared to herself 
before July had come to an end that it 
was all vanity and vexation of spirit. 

The Allinghams always went to Good- 
wood — husband and wife. Goodwood 
and Ascot for Lady Ailingham were 
festivals quite as sacred as were Epsom 
and Newmarket for the earl. She looked 
forward to them all the year, learned 
all she could about the horses which 
were to run, was very anxious and en- 
ergetic about her party, and, if all that 
was said was true, had her little book. 
It was an institution also that George 
Hotspur should be one of the party; 
and of all the arrangements usually 



3 2 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



made, it was not the one with which 
her ladyship could dispense the easiest. 
George knew exactly what she liked to 
have done, and how. The earl himself 
would take no trouble — desired simply 
to be taken there and back, and to find 
everything that was wanted the very 
moment it was needed. And in all 
such matters the countess chose that the 
earl should be indulged. But it was 
necessary to have some one who would 
look after something — who would direct 
the servants, and give the orders, and 
be responsible. George Hotspur did it 
all admirably, and on such occasions 
earned the hospitality which was given 
to him throughout the year. At Good- 
wood he was almost indispensable to 
Lady Allingham, but for this meeting 
she was willing to dispense with him. 
"I tell you, Captain Hotspur, that you're 
not to go," she said to him. 
"Nonsense, Lady Allingham!" 
"What a child you are! Don't you 
know what depends on it ?" 
"It does not depend on that." 
" It may. Every little helps. Didn't 
you promise her that you wouldn't ?" 
"She didn't take it in earnest." 
" I tell you you know nothing about 
a woman. She will take it very much 
in earnest if you break your word." 
"She'll never know." 
" She will. She'll learn it. A girl like 
that learns everything. Don't go, and 
let her know that you have not gone." 

George Hotspur thought that he might 
go and yet let her know that he had not 
gone. An accomplished and successful 
lie was to him a thing beautiful in itself 
— an event that had come off usefully, 
a piece of strategy that was evidence of 
skill, so much gained on the world at 
the least possible outlay, an investment 
from which had come profit without 
capital. Lady Allingham was very hard 
on him, threatening him at one time 
with the earl's displeasure and absolute 
refusal of his company. But he plead- 
ed hard that his book would be. ruinous 
to him if he did not go ; that this was a 
pursuit of such a kind that a man could 
not give it up all of a moment ; that he 
would take care that his name was 



omitted from the printed list of Lord 
Allingham's party ; and that he ought 
to be allowed this last recreation. The 
countess at last gave way, and George 
Hotspur did go to Goodwood. 

With the success or failure of his book 
on that occasion our story is not con- 
cerned. He was still more flush of cash 
than usual, having something left of his 
cousin's generous present. At any rate, 
he came to no signal ruin at the races, 
and left London for Castle Corry on 
the ioth of August without any known 
diminution to his prospects. At that 
time the Hotspurs were at Humble- 
thwaite with a party, but it had been 
already decided that George should not 
prepare to make his visit till September. 
He was to write from Castle Corry — all 
that had been arranged between him 
and the countess — and from Castle Cor- 
ry he did write : 

" Dear Lady Elizabeth : 

" Sir Harry was kind enough to say 
last winter that I might come to Hum- 
blethwaite again this autumn. Will you 
be able to take me in on the 2d Sep- 
tember ? We have about finished with 
Allingham's house, and Lady A. has 
had enough of me. They remain here 
till the middle of this month. With 
kind regards to Sir Harry and Emily, 
"Believe me, yours always, 

"George Hotspur." 

Nothing could be simpler than this 
note, and yet every word of it had been 
weighed and dictated by Lady Alling- 
ham. "That won't do at all. You 
mustn't seem to be so eager," she had 
said when he showed her the letter as 
prepared by himself. "Just write as 
you would do if you were coming here." 
Then she sat down and made the copy 
for him. 

There was very great doubt and there 
was much deliberation over that note 
at Humblethwaite. The invitation had 
doubtless been given, and Sir Harry 
did not wish to turn against his own 
flesh and blood — to deny admittance to 
his house to the man who was the heir 
to his title. Were he to do so, he must 
give some reason : he must declare some 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



33 



quarrel ; he must say boldly that all 
intercourse between them was to be at 
an end ; and he must inform Cousin 
George that this strong step was taken 
because Cousin George was a — black- 
guard ! There was no other way of es- 
cape left. And then Cousin George had 
• done nothing since the days of the Lon- 
don intimacies to warrant such treat- 
ment : he had at least done nothing to 
warrant such treatment at the hands of 
Sir Harry. And yet Sir Harry thoroughly 
wished that his cousin was at Jerusalem. 
He still vacillated, but his vacillation did 
not bring him nearer to his cousin's side 
of the case. Every little thing that he 
saw and heard made him know that his 
cousin was a man to whom he could not 
give his daughter, even for the sake of 
the family, without abandoning his duty 
to his child. At this moment, while he 
was considering George's letter, it was 
quite clear that George should not be 
his son-in-law ; and yet the fact that 
the property and the title might be 
brought together was not absent from 
his mind when he gave his final assent. 
"I don't suppose she cares for him," he 
said to his wife. 

"She's not in love with him, if you 
mean that." 

" What else should I mean ?" he said, 
crossly. 

"She may learn to be in love with him." 

"She had better not. She must be 
told. He may come for a week. I 
won't have him here for longer. Write 
to him, and say that we shall be happy 
to have him from the second to the 
ninth. Emily must be told that I dis- 
approve of him, but that I can't avoid 
opening my house to him." 

These were the most severe words he 
had ever spoken about Cousin George, 
but then the occasion had become very 
critical. Lady Elizabeth's reply was as 
follows : 

"My dear Cousin George: — Sir 
Harry and I will be very happy to have 
you on the second, as you propose, and 
hope you will stay till the eleventh. 
"Yours sincerely, 

"Elizabeth Hotspur." 
3 



He was to come on a Saturday, but 
she did not like to tell him to go on a 
Saturday, because of the following day. 
Where could the poor fellow be on the 
Sunday ? She therefore stretched her 
invitation for two days beyond the period 
sanctioned by Sir Harry. 

" It's not very gracious," said George 
as he showed the note to Lady Ailing- 
ham. 

"I don't like it the less on that 
account. It shows that they're afraid 
about her, and they wouldn't be afraid 
without cause." 

"There is not much of that, I fancy." 

"They oughtn't to have a chance 
against you, not if you play your game 
well. Even in ordinary cases the fathers 
and mothers are beaten by the lovers 
nine times out of ten. It is only when 
the men are oafs and louts that they 
are driven off. But with you, with your 
cousinship and half heirship, and all 
your practice, and the family likeness, 
and the rest of it, if you'll only take a 
little trouble — " 

"I'll take any amount of trouble." 

"No, you won't. You'll deny your- 
self nothing, and go through no ordeal 
that is disagreeable to you. I don't 
suppose your things are a bit better ar- 
ranged in London than they were in the 
spring." She looked at him as though 
waiting for an answer, but he was silent. 

" It's too late for anything of that kind 
now, but still you may do very much. 
Make up your mind to this — that you'll 
ask Miss Hotspur to be your wife before 
you leave — What's the name of the 
place ?" 

" I have quite made up my mind to 
that, Lady Allingham." 

"As to the manner of doing it, I 
don't suppose that I can teach you any- 
thing." 

" I don't know about that." 

"At any rate I sha'n't try. Only re- 
member this. Get her to promise to be 
firm, and then go at once to Sir Harry. 
Don't let there be an appearance of 
doubt in speaking to him. And if he 
tells you of the property — angrily, I 
mean — then do you tell him of the title. 
Make him understand that you give as 



34 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



much as you get. I don't suppose he 
will yield at first. Why should he ? 
You are not the very best young man 
about town, you know. But if you get 
her, he must follow. She looks like one 
that would stick to it if she once had 
said it." 

Thus prompted, George Hotspur went 
from Castle Corry to Humblethwaite. I 
wonder whether he was aware of the 
extent of the friendship of his friend, 
and whether he ever considered why it 
was that such a woman should be so 
anxious to assist him in making his 
fortune, let it be at what cost it might 
be to others ? Lady Allingham was not 
the least in love with Captain Hotspur, 
was bound to him by no tie whatsoever, 
would suffer no loss in the world should 
Cousin George come to utter and in- 
curable ruin ; but she was a woman of 
energy, and, as she liked the man, she 
was zealous in her friendship. 



CHAPTER VIII. 
AIREY FORCE. 

Lady Elizabeth had been instructed 
by Sir Harry to warn her daughter not 
to fall in love with Cousin George during 
his visit to Humblethwaite ; and Lady 
Elizabeth was, as a wife, accustomed to 
obey her husband in all things. But 
obedience in this matter was very diffi- 
cult. Such a caution as that received is 
not easily given even between a mother 
and a child, and is especially difficult 
when the mother is unconsciously aware 
of her child's superiority to herself. 
Emily was in all respects the bigger 
woman of the two, and was sure to get 
the best of it in any such cautioning. 
It is so hard to have to bid a girl, and 
a good girl too, not to fall in love with 
a particular man. There is left among 
us, at any rate, so much of reserve and 
assumed delicacy as to require us to 
consider, or pretend to consider, on the 
girl's behalf, that of course she won't 
fall in love. We know that she will, 
sooner or later ; and probably as much 
sooner as opportunity may offer. That 
is our experience of the genus girl in 



the general ; and we quite approve of 
her for her readiness to do so. It is, 
indeed, her nature ; and the propensity 
has been planted in her for wise pur- 
poses. But as to this or that special 
sample of the genus girl, in reference 
to this or that special sample of the 
genus young man, we always feel our- 
selves bound to take it as a matter of 
course that there can be nothing of the 
kind — till the thing is done. Any cau- 
tion on the matter is therefore difficult 
and disagreeable, as conveying almost 
an insult. Mothers in well-regulated 
families do not caution their daughters 
in reference to special young men. But 
Lady Elizabeth had been desired by her 
husband to give the caution, and must 
in some sort obey the instruction. Two 
days before George's arrival she en- 
deavored to do as she was told — not 
with the most signal success : 

"Your cousin George is coming on 
Saturday." 

"So I heard papa say." 

"Your papa gave him a sort of invi- 
tation when he was here last time, and 
so he has proposed himself." 

"Why should not he ? It seems very 
natural. He is the nearest relation we 
have got, and we all like him." 

" I don't think your papa does like 
him." 

"I do." 

"What I mean is, your papa doesn't 
approve of him. He goes to races, and 
bets, and all that kind of thing. And 
then your papa thinks that he's over 
head and ears in debt." 

" I don't know anything about his 
debts. As for his going to races, I be- 
lieve he has given them up. I am sure 
he would if he were asked." Then 
there was a pause, for Lady Elizabeth 
hardly knew how to pronounce her cau- 
tion. "Why shouldn't papa pay his 
debts ?" 

"My dear!" 

"Well, mamma, why shouldn't he? 
And why shouldn't papa let him have 
the property — I mean, leave it to him 
instead of to me ?" 

" If yoHr brother had lived — ■" 

"He didn't live, mamma. That has 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



35 



been our great misfortune. But so it is ; 
and why shouldn't George be allowed 
to take his place ? I'm sure it would 
be for the best. Papa thinks so much 
about the name and the family, and all 
that." 

"My dear, you must leave him to do 
as he thinks fit in all such matters. 
You may be sure that he will do what 
he believes to be his duty. What I was 
going to say was this — " And, in- 
stead of saying it, Lady Elizabeth still 
hesitated. 

" I know what you want to say, mam- 
ma, just as well as though the words 
were out of your mouth. You want to 
make me understand that George is a 
black sheep." 

"I'm afraid he is." 

" But black sheep are not like black- 
amoors : they may be washed white. 
You said so yourself the other day." 

"Did I, my dear?" 

" Certainly you did, and certainly they 
may. Why, mamma, what is all re- 
ligion but the washing of black sheep 
white — making the black a little less 
black, scraping a spot white here and 
there ?" 

" I am afraid your cousin George is 
beyond washing." 

"Then, mamma, all I can say is, he 
oughtn't to come here. Mind, I think 
you wrong him. I dare say he has 
been giddy and fond of pleasure ; but 
if he is so bad as you say, papa should 
tell him at once not to come. As far as 
I am concerned, I don't believe he is so 
bad, and I shall be glad to see him." 

There was no cautioning a young 
woman who could reason in this way, 
and who could look at her mother as 
Emily looked. It was not, at least, 
within the power of Lady Elizabeth to 
do so. And yet she could not tell Sir 
Harry of her failure. She thought that 
she had expressed the caution ; and she 
thought also that her daughter would be 
wise enough to be guided — not by her 
wisdom — but by the words of her father. 
Poor, dear woman ! She was thinking 
of it every hour of the day, but she said 
nothing more on the subject, either to 
her daughter or to Sir Harry. 



The black sheep came, and made one 
of a number of numerous visitors. It 
had been felt that the danger would be 
less among a multitude, and there was 
present a very excellent young man, as 
to whom there were hopes. Steps had 
not been taken about this excellent 
young man, as had been done in refer- 
ence to Lord Alfred ; but still there 
were hopes. He was the eldest son of 
a Lincolnshire squire, a man of fair 
property and undoubted family, but 
who, it was thought, would not object 
to merge the name of Thoresby in that 
of Hotspur. Nothing came of the young 
man, who was bashful, and to whom 
Miss Hotspur certainly gave no enter- 
tainment of a nature to remove his bash- 
fulness. But when the day for George's 
coming had been fixed, Sir Harry 
thought it expedient to write to young 
Thoresby and accelerate a visit which 
had been previously proposed. Sir 
Harry as he did so almost hated him- 
self for his anxiety to dispose of his 
daughter. He was a gentleman, every 
inch of him, and he thoroughly desired 
to do his duty. He knew, however, 
that there was much in his feelings of 
which he could not but be ashamed. 
And yet, if something were not done to 
assist his girl in a right disposal of all 
that she had to bestow with her hand, 
how was it probable that it could be be- 
stowed aright ? 

The black sheep came, and found 
young Thoresby and some dozen other 
strangers in the house. He smiled upon 
them all, and before the first evening 
was over had made himself the popular 
man of the house. Sir Harry, like a 
fool as he was, had given his cousin 
only two fingers, and had looked black 
at their first meeting. Nothing could 
be gained by conduct such as that with 
such a guest. Before the gentlemen 
left the dinner-table on the first day 
even he had smiled and joked, and had 
asked questions about "Allingham's 
mountains." "The worst of you fel- 
lows who go to Scotland is, that you 
care nothing for real sport when you 
come down south afterward." All this 
conversation about Lord Allingham's 



36 



S/R HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



grouse and the Scotch mountains helped 
George Hotspur, so that when he went 
into the drawing-room he was in the 
ascendant. Many men have learned 
the value of such ascendency, and most 
men have known the want of it. 

Poor Lady Elizabeth had not a chance 
with Cousin George. She succumbed 
to him at once — not knowing why, but 
feeling that she herself became bright, 
amusing and happy when talking to 
him. She was a woman not given to 
familiarities, but she did become familiar 
with him, allowing him little liberties 
of expression which no other man would 
take with her, and putting them all 
down to the score of cousinhood. He 
might be a black sheep — she feared 
there could be but little doubt that he 
was one— but, from her worsted-work 
up to the demerits of her dearest friend, 
he did know how to talk better than 
any other young man she knew. To 
Emily, on that first evening, he said 
very little. When he first met her he 
had pressed her hand and looked into 
her eyes, and smiled on her with a smile 
so sweet that it was as though a god 
had smiled on her. She had made up 
her mind that he should be nothing to 
her — nothing beyond a dear cousin: 
nevertheless, her eye had watched him 
during the whole hour of dinner, and, 
not knowing that it was so, she had 
waited for his coming to them in the 
evening. Heavens and earth ! what an 
oaf was that young Thoresby as the 
two stood together near the door ! She 
did not want her cousin to come and 
talk to her, but she listened and laughed 
within herself as she saw how pleased 
was her mother by the attentions of the 
black sheep. 

One word Cousin George did say to 
Emily Hotspur that night, just as the 
ladies were leaving the room. It was 
said in a whisper, with a little laugh, 
with that air of half joke, half earnest, 
which may be so efficacious in con- 
versation : " I did not go to Goodwood, 
after all." 

She raised her eyes to his for a 
quarter of a second, thanking him for 
his goodness in refraining. "I don't 



believe that he is really a black sheep 
at all," she said to herself that night as 
she laid her head upon her pillow. 

After all, the devil fights under great 
disadvantages, and has to carry weights 
in all his races which are almost unfair. 
He lies as a matter of course, believing 
thoroughly in lies, thinking that it is 
by lies chiefly that he must make his 
running good ; and yet every lie he 
tells, after it has been told and used, 
remains as an additional weight to be 
carried. When you have used your lie 
gracefully and successfully, it is hard 
to bury it and get it well out of sight. 
It crops up here and there against you, 
requiring more lies ; and at last, too 
often, has to be admitted as a lie — most 
usually so admitted in silence, but still 
admitted, to be forgiven or not accord- 
ing to the circumstances of the case. 
The most perfect forgiveness is that 
which is extended to him who is known 
to lie in everything. The man has to 
be taken, lies and all, as a man is taken 
with a squint, or a harelip, or a bad 
temper. He has an uphill game to 
fight, but when once well known, he 
does not fall into the difficulty of being 
believed. 

George Hotspur's lie was believed. 
To our readers it may appear to have 
been most gratuitous, unnecessary and 
inexpedient. The girl would not have 
quarreled with him for going to the 
races — would never have asked any- 
thing about it. But George knew that 
he must make his running : it would 
not suffice that she should not quarrel 
with him. He had to win her, and it 
came so natural to him to lie. And 
the lie was efficacious : she was glad to 
know that he stayed away from the 
races for her sake. Had it not been for 
her sake ? She would not bid him stay 
away, but she was so glad that he had 
stayed. The lie was very useful. If it 
only could have been buried and out of 
sight when used ! 

There was partridge-shooting for four 
days — not good shooting, but work 
which carried the men far from home, 
and enabled Sir Harry to look after his 
cousin. George, so looked after, did not 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



37 



dare to say that on any day he would 
shirk the shooting. But Sir Harry, as 
he watched his cousin, gradually lost 
his keenness for watching him. Might 
it not be best that he should let matters 
arrange themselves ? This young squire 
from Lincolnshire was evidently an oaf: 
Sir Harry could not even cherish a hope 
on that side. His girl was very good, 
and she had been told, and the work of 
watching went so much against the grain 
with him ; and then, added to it all, 
was the remembrance that if the worst 
came to the worst the title and property 
would be kept together. George might 
have fought his fight, we think, without 
the aid of his lie. 

On the Friday the party was to some 
extent broken up. The oaf and sundry 
other persons went away. Sir Harry 
had thought that the cousin would go 
on the Saturday, and had been angry 
with his wife because his orders on that 
head had not been implicitly obeyed. 
But when the Friday came, and George 
offered to go in with him to Penrith, to 
hear some case of fish-poaching which 
was to be brought before the magis- 
trates, he had forgiven the offence. 
George had a great deal to say about 
fish, and then went on to say a good 
deal about himself. If he could only 
get some employment — a farm, say, 
where he might have hunting — how 
good it would be ! For he did not pre- 
tend to any virtuous abnegation of the 
pleasures of the world, but was willing 
— so he said — to add to them some lit- 
tle attempt to earn his own bread. On 
this day Sir Harry liked his cousin bet- 
ter than he had ever done before, though 
he did not even then place the least con- 
fidence in his cousin's sincerity as to the 
farm and the earning of bread. 

On their return to the Hall on Friday, 
they found that a party had been made 
to go to Ulleswater on the Saturday. 
A certain Mrs. Fitzpatrick was staying 
in the house who had never seen the 
lake, and the carriage was to take them 
to Airey Force. Airey Force, as every- 
body knows, is a waterfall near to the 
shores of the lake, and is the great lion 
of the Lake scenery on that side of the 



mountains. The waterfall was full fif- 
teen miles from Humblethwaite, but 
the distance had been done before, and 
could be done again. Emily, with Mrs. 
Fitzpatrick, and two other young ladies, 
were to go. Mr. Fitzpatrick would sit 
on the box. There was a youth there 
also who had left school and not yet 
gone to college. He was to be allowed 
to drive a dog-cart. Of course George 
Hotspur was ready to go in the dog-cart 
with him. 

George had determined from the com- 
mencement of his visit, when he began 
to foresee that this Saturday would be 
more at his command than any other 
day, that on this Saturday he would 
make or mar his fortune for life. He 
had perceived that his cousin was cau- 
tious with him, that he would be allowed 
but little scope for love-making, that 
she was in some sort afraid of him ; but 
he perceived also that in a quiet, unde- 
monstrative way she was very gracious 
to him. She never ignored him, as 
young ladies will sometimes ignore 
young men, but thought of him even 
in his absence, and was solicitous for 
his comfort. He was clever enough to 
read little signs, and was sure at any 
rate that she liked him. 

" Why did you not postpone the party 
till George was gone ?" Sir Harry said 
to his wife. 

"The Fitzpatricks also go on Mon- 
day," she answered, "and we could not 
refuse them." 

Then again it occurred to Sir Harry 
that life would not be worth having if 
he was to be afraid to allow his daughter 
to go to a pic-nic in company with her 
cousin. 

There is a bridge across the water at 
the top of Airey Force, which is perhaps 
one of the prettiest spots in the whole 
of our Lake country. The entire party 
on their arrival of course went up to the 
bridge, and then the entire party of course 
descended. How it happened that in 
the course of the afternoon George and 
Emily were there again, and were there 
unattended, who can tell ? If she had 
meant to be cautious, she must very 
much have changed her plans in allow- 



38 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



ing herself to be led thither. And as 
he stood there, with no eye resting on 
them, his arm was round her waist and 
she was pressed to his side. 

"Dearest, dearest," he said, "may I 
believe that you love me ?" . 

" I have said so. You may believe it 
if you will." 

She did not attempt to make the dis- 
tance greater between them. She leant 
against him willingly. 

"Dear George, I do love you. My 
choice has been made. I have to trust 
to you for everything." 

"You shall never trust in vain," he 
said. 

"You must reform, you know," she 
said, turning round and looking up into 
his face with a smile. "They say that 
you have been wild. You must not be 
wild any more, sir." 

" I will reform. I have reformed. I 
say it boldly : I have become an altered 
man since I knew you. I have lived 
with one hope, and even the hope alone 
has changed me. Now I have got all 
that I have hoped for. Oh, Emily, I 
wish you knew how much I love you !" 

They were there on the bridge, or 
roaming together alone in the woods, 
for nearly an hour after that, till Mrs. 
Fitzpatrick, who knew the value of the 
prize and the nature of the man, began 
to fear that she had been remiss in her 
duty as chaperon. As Emily came 
down and joined the party at last, she 
was perfectly regardless either of their 
frowns or smiles. There had been one 
last compact made between the lovers. 

"George," she had said, "whatever it 
may cost us, let there be no secrets." 

"Of course not," he replied. 

" I will tell mamma to-night, and you 
must tell papa. You will promise me ?" 

"Certainly. It is what I should in- 
sist on doing myself. I could not stay 
in his house under other circumstances. 
But you too must promise me one thing, 
Emily." 

"What is it?" 

"You will be true to me, even though 
he should refuse his consent ?" 

She paused before she answered him : 

" I will be true to you. I cannot be 



otherwise than true to you. My love 
was a thing to give, but when given I 
cannot take it back. I will be true to 
you, but of course we cannot be mar- 
ried till papa consents." 

He urged her no farther. He was 
too wise to think it possible that he 
could do so without injuring his cause. 
Then they found the others, and Emily 
made her apologies to Mrs. Fitzpatrick 
for the delay with a quiet dignity that 
struck her cousin George almost with 
awe. How had it been that such a one 
as he had won so great a creature ? 

George, as he was driven home by 
his young companion, was full of joy- 
ous chatter and light small-talk. He 
had done a good stroke of business, and 
was happy. If only the baronet could 
be brought round, all the troubles which 
had enveloped him since a beard had 
first begun to grow on his chin would 
disappear as a mist beneath the full rays 
of the sun ; or even if there still might 
be a trouble or two — and as he thought 
of his prospects he remembered that 
they could not all be made to disappear 
in the mist .fashion — there would be 
that which would gild the clouds. At 
any rate he had done a good stroke of 
business. And he loved the girl too. 
He thought that of all the girls he had 
seen about town, or about the country 
either, she was the bonniest and the 
brightest and the most clever. It might 
well have been that a poor devil like he 
in search of an heiress might have been 
forced to put up with personal disadvan- 
tages — with age, with plain looks, with 
vulgar manners, with low birth ; but 
here, so excellent was his fortune, there 
was everything which fortune could give. 
Love her ? Of course he loved her. 
He would do anything on earth for her. 
And how jolly they would be together 
when they got hold of their share of 
that twenty thousand a year ! And how 
jolly it would be to owe nothing to any- 
body ! As he thought of this, however, 
there came upon him the reminiscence 
of a certain Captain Stubber, and the 
further reminiscence of a certain Mr. 
Abraham Hart, with both of whom he 
had had dealings ; and he told himself 




" ' May I believe that you loi'e me ? ' " — [Page 39.] 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITn. 



41 



that it would behoove him to call up all 
his pluck when discussing those gentle- 
men and their dealings with the ba- 
ronet. He was sure that the baronet 
would not like Captain Stubber nor Mr. 
Hart, and that a good deal of pluck 
would be needed. But on the whole 
he had done a great stroke of business ; 
and, as a consequence of his success, 
talked and chatted all the way home, 
till the youth who was driving him 
thought that he was about the nicest 
fellow that he had ever met. 

Emily Hotspur, as she took her place 
in the carriage, was very silent. She 
also had much of which to think — much 
on which, as she dreamed, to congratu- 
late herself. But she could not think 
of it and talk at the same time. She 
had made her little apology with grace- 
ful ease. She had just smiled — but the 
smile was almost a rebuke — when one 
of her companions had ventured on 
the beginning of some little joke as to 
her company, and then she had led the 
way to the carriage. Mrs. Fitzpatrick 
and the two girls were nothing to her 
now, let them suspect what they choose 
or say what they might. She had given 
herself away, and she triumphed in the 
surrender. The spot on which he had 
told her of his love should be sacred to 
her for ever. It was a joy to her that it 
was near to her own home, the home 
that she would give to him, so that she 
might go there with him again and 
again. She had very much to consider 
and to remember. A black sheep ! no. 
Of all the flock he should be the least 
black. It might be that in the energy 
of his pleasures he had exceeded other 
men, as he did exceed all other men in 
everything that he did and said. Who 
was so clever ? who so bright ? who so 
handsome, so full of poetry and of manly 
grace ? How sweet was his voice, how 
fine his gait, how gracious his smile! 
And then on his brow there was that 
look of command which she had ever 
recognized in her father's face as belong- 
ing to his race as a Hotspur — only added 
to it was a godlike beauty which her 
father never could have possessed. 

She did not conceal from herself that 



there might be trouble with her father. 
And yet she was not sure but that upon 
the whole he would be pleased after a 
while. Humblethwaite and the family 
honors would still go together if he 
would sanction this marriage ; and she 
knew how he longed in his heart that 
it might be so. For a time probably he 
might be averse to her prayers. Should 
it be so, she would simply give him her 
word that she would never during his 
lifetime marry without his permission, 
and then she would be true to her troth. 
As to her truth in that respect, there 
could be no doubt. She had given her 
word, and that, for a Hotspur, must be 
enough. 

She could not talk as she thought of 
all this, and therefore had hardly spoken 
when George appeared at the carriage 
door to give the ladies a hand as they 
came into the house. To her he was 
able to give one gentle pressure as she 
passed on ; but she did not speak to 
him, nor was it necessary that she should 
do so. Had not everything been said 
already ? 



CHAPTER IX. 
" I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE." 

The scene which took place that night 
between the mother and daughter may 
be easily conceived. Emily told her 
tale, and told it in a manner which left 
no doubt of her persistency. She cer- 
tainly meant it : Lady Elizabeth had 
almost expected it. There are evils 
which may come or may not, but as to 
which, though we tell ourselves that 
they may still be avoided, we are in- 
wardly almost sure that they will come. 
Such an evil in the mind of Lady Eliza- 
beth had been Cousin George. Not 
but what she herself would have liked 
him for a son-in-law, had it not been so 
certain that he was a black sheep. 

"Your father will never consent to it, 
my dear." 

"Of course, mamma, I shall do noth- 
ing unless he does." 

"You will have to give him up." 

"No, mamma, not that: that is be- 



4 2 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



yond what papa can demand of me. I 
shall not give him up, but I certainly 
shall not marry him without papa's con- 
sent, or yours." 
"Nor see him ?" 

"Well, if he does not come, I cannot 
see him." 
"Nor correspond with him ?" 
"Certainly not, if papa forbids it." 
After that, Lady Elizabeth did give 
way to a considerable extent. She did 
not tell her daughter that she considered 
it at all probable that Sir Harry would 
yield, but she made it to be understood 
that she herself would do so if Sir Harry 
would be persuaded. And she acknow- 
ledged that the amount of obedience 
promised by Emily was all that could be 
expected. "But, mamma," said Emily, 
before she left her mother, "do you not 
know that you love him yourself?" 
" Love is such a strong word, my dear." 
"It is not half strong enough," said 
Emily, pressing her two hands together. 
" But you do, mamma ?" 

" I think he is very agreeable, cer- 
tainly." 

"And handsome ? — only that goes for 
nothing." 
"Yes, he is a fine-looking man." 
"And clever? I don't know how it 
is — let there be who there may in the 
room, he is always the best talker." 
" He knows how to talk, certainly." 
"And, mamma, don't you think that 
there is a something — I don't know what 
— something not at all like other men 
about him that compels one to love 
him ? Oh, mamma, do say something 
nice to me : to me he is everything that 
a man should be." 

"I wish he were, my dear." 
"As for the sort of life he has been 
leading, spending more money than he 
ought, and all that kind of thing, he has 
promised to reform it altogether ; and he 
is doing it now. At any rate, you must 
admit, mamma, that he is not false." 
" I hope not, my dear." 
"Why do you speak in that way, 
mamma ? Does he talk like a man 
that is false ? Have you ever known 
him to be false ? Don't be prejudiced, 
mamma, at any rate." 



The reader will understand that when 
the daughter had brought her mother as 
far as this, the elder lady was compelled 
to say "something nice" at last. At 
any rate, there was a loving embrace 
between them, and an understanding 
that the mother would not exaggerate 
the difficulties of the position either by 
speech or word. 

"Of course you will have to see your 
papa to-morrow morning," Lady Eliza- 
beth said. 

" George will tell him everything to- 
night," said Emily. She, as she went 
to her bed, did not doubt but what the 
difficulties would melt. Luckily for her 
— so luckily! — it happened that her 
lover possessed by his very birth a right 
which, beyond all other possessions, 
would recommend him to her father. 
And then had not the man himself all 
natural good gifts to recommend him ? 
Of course he had not money or property, 
but she had, or would have, property ; 
and of all men alive her father was the 
least disposed to be greedy. As she 
half thought of it and half dreamt of 
it in her last waking moments of that 
important day, she was almost alto- 
gether happy. It was so sweet to know 
that she possessed the love of him 
whom she loved better than all the 
world besides ! 

Cousin George did not have quite so 
good a time of it that night. The first 
thing he did on his return from Ulles- 
water to Humblethwaite was to write a 
line to his friend, Lady Allingham. 
This had been promised, and he did so 
before he had seen Sir Harry : 

" Dear Lady A. : 

" I have been successful with my 
younger cousin. She is the bonniest 
and the best and the brightest girl that 
ever lived, and I am the happiest fel- 
low. But I have not as yet seen the 
baronet. I am to do so to-night-, and 
will report progress to-morrow. I doubt 
I sha'n't find him so bonny and so 
good and so bright. But, as you say, 
the young birds ought to be too strong 
for the old ones. 

"Yours, most sincerely, G. H." 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



43 



This was written while he was dress- 
ing, and was put into the letter-box by 
himself as he came down stairs. It was 
presumed that the party had dined at 
the falls, but there was "a tea" pre- 
pared for them on an extensive scale. 
Sir Harry, suspecting nothing, was very 
happy and almost jovial with Mr. Fitz- 
patrick and the two young ladies. Em- 
ily said hardly a word. Lady Elizabeth, 
who had not as yet been told, but al- 
ready suspected something, was very 
anxious. George was voluble, witty, 
and perhaps a little too loud. But as 
the lad who was going to Oxford, and 
who had drank a good deal of cham- 
pagne and was now drinking sherry, 
was loud also, George's manner was 
not specially observed. It was past ten 
before they got up from the table, and 
nearly eleven before George was able to 
whisper a word to the baronet. He al- 
most shirked it for that night, and would 
have done so had he not remembered 
how necessary it was that Emily should 
know that his pluck was good. Of 
course she would be asked to abandon 
him. Of course she would be told that 
it was her duty to give him up. Of 
course she would give him up unless he 
could get such a hold upon her heart as 
to make her doing so impossible to her. 
She would have to learn that he was an 
unprincipled spendthrift — nay, worse 
than that, as he hardly scrupled to tell 
himself. But he need not weight his 
own character with the further burden 
of cowardice. The baronet could not 
eat him, and he would not be afraid of 
the baronet. 

" Sir Harry, " George whispered, " could 
you give me a minute or two before we 
go to bed ?" Sir Harry started as though 
he had been stung, and looked his cou- 
sin sharply in the face without answer- 
ing him. George kept his countenance 
and smiled. " I won't keep you long," 
he said. 

"You had better come to my room," 
said Sir Harry, gruffly, and led the way 
into his own sanctum. When there he 
sat down in his accustomed arm-chair, 
without offering George a seat, but 
George soon found a seat for himself. 



"And now what is it?" said Sir Harry 
with his blackest frown. 

" I have asked my cousin to be my 
wife." 

"What! Emily?" 

"Yes, Emily, and she has consented. 
I now ask for your approval." We 
must give Cousin George his due, and 
acknowledge that he made his little re- 
quest exactly as he would have done 
had he been master of ten thousand a 
year of his own, quite unencumbered. 

"What right had you, sir, to speak to 
her without coming to me first ?" 

" One always does, I think, go to the 
girl first," said George. 

" You have disgraced yourself, sir, 
and outraged my hospitality. You are 
no gentleman." 

"Sir Harry, that is strong language." 

" Strong ! Of course it is strong. I 
mean it to be strong. I shall make it 
stronger yet if you attempt to say an- 
other word to her." 

"Look here, Sir Harry, I am bound 
to bear a good deal from you, but I have 
a right to explain." 

"You have a right, sir, to go away 
from this, and go away you shall." 

"Sir Harry, you have told me that I 
am not a gentleman." 

"You have abused my kindness to 
you. What right have you, who have 
not a shilling in the world, to speak to 
my daughter ? I won't have it, and let 
that be an end of it. I won't have it. 
And I must desire that you will leave 
Humblethwaite to-morrow. I won't 
have it." 

" It is quite true that I have not a 
shilling." 

"Then what business have you to 
speak to my daughter ?" 

"Because I have that which is worth 
many shillings, and which you value 
above all your property. I am the heir 
to your name and title. When you are 
gone I must be the head of this family. 
I do not in the least quarrel with you 
for choosing to leave your property to 
your own child, but I have done the 
best I could to keep the property and 
the title together. I love my cousin." 

"I don't believe in your love, sir." 



44 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



"If that is all, I do not doubt but 
what I can satisfy you." 

" It is not all, and it is not half all. 
And it isn't because you are a pauper. 
You know it all as well as I do, without 
my telling you, but you drive me to tell 
you." 

"Know what, sir?" 

" Though you hadn't a shilling, you 
should have had her if you could win 
her, had your life been even fairly de- 
cent. The title must go to you — worse 
luck for the family ! You can talk well 
enough, and what you say is true. I 
would wish that they should go together." 

"Of course it will be better." 

"But, sir — " then Sir Harry paused. 

"Well, Sir Harry?" 

"You oblige me to speak out. You 
are such a one that I do not dare to let 
you have my child. Your life is so bad 
that I should not be justified in doing 
so for any family purpose. You would 
break her heart." 

"You wrong me there, altogether." 

"You are a gambler." 

" I have been, Sir Harry." 

"And a spendthrift." 

"Well, yes — as long as I had little or 
nothing to spend." 

" I believe you are over head and 
ears in debt now, in spite of the assist- 
ance you have had from me within 
twelve months." 

Cousin George remembered the ad- 
vice which had been given him, that he 
should conceal nothing from his cousin. 
"I do owe some money, certainly," he 
said. 

"And how do you mean to pay it." 

"Well, if I marry Emily, I suppose 
that you will pay it." 

"That's cool, at any rate!" 

"What can I say, Sir Harry ?" 

" I would pay it all, though it were to 
half the property — " 

" Less than a year's income would clear 
off every shilling I owe, Sir Harry." 

"Listen to me, sir. Though it were 
ten years' income I would pay it all, if 
I thought that the rest would be kept 
with the title, and that my girl would 
be happy." 

" I will make her happy." 



" But, sir, it is not only that you are 
a gambler and spendthrift, and an un- 
principled debtor without even a thought 
of paying. You are worse than this. 
There ! I am not going to call you 
names : I know what you are, and you 
shall not have my daughter." 

George Hotspur found himself com- 
pelled to think for a few moments be- 
fore he could answer a charge so vague, 
and yet, as he knew, so well founded ; 
nevertheless he felt that he was progress- 
ing. His debts would not stand in his 
way if only he could make this rich 
father believe that in other matters his 
daughter would not be endangered by 
the marriage. "I don't quite know what 
you mean, Sir Harry. I am not going 
to defend myself. I have done much 
of which I am ashamed. I was turned 
very young upon the world, and got to 
live with rich people when I was my- 
self poor. I ought to have withstood 
the temptation, but I didn't, and I got 
into bad hands. I don't deny it. There 
is a horrid Jew has bills of mine now." 

"What have you done with that five 
thousand pounds ?" 

" He had half of it ; and I had to 
settle for the last Leger which went 
against me." 

"It is all gone?" 

"Pretty nearly. I don't pretend but 
what I have been very reckless as to 
money. I am ready to tell you the 
truth about everything. I don't say 
that I deserve her ; but I do say this — 
that I should not have thought of win- 
ning her, in my position, had it not 
been for the title. Having that in my 
favor, I do not think that I was mis- 
behaving to you in proposing to her. 
If you will trust me now, I will be as 
grateful and obedient a son as any man 
ever had." 

He had pleaded his cause well, and 
he knew it. Sir Harry also felt that 
his cousin had made a better case than 
he would have believed to be possible. 
He was quite sure that the man was a 
scamp, utterly untrustworthy, and yet 
the man's pleading for himself had been 
efficacious. He sat silent for full five 
minutes before he spoke again, and 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBIETHWAITE. 



45 



then he gave judgment as follows : 
" You will go away without seeing her 
to-morrow?" 

"If you wish it." 

"And you will not write to her?" 

"Only a line." 

"Not a word," said Sir Harry, im- 
periously. 

" Only a line, which I will give open 
to you. You can do with it as you 
please." 

"And as you have forced upon me 
the necessity, I shall make inquiries in 
London as to your past life. I have 
heard things which perhaps may be 
untrue." 

"What things, Sir Harry ?" 

" I shall not demean myself or injure 
you by repeating them, unless I find 
cause to believe they are true. I do 
believe that the result will be such as 
to make me feel that in justice to my 
girl I cannot allow you to become her 
husband. I tell you so fairly. Should 
the debts you owe be simple debts, not 
dishonorably contracted, I will pay 
them." 

"And then she shall be mine ?" 

" I will make no such promise. You 
had better go now. You can have the 
carriage to Penrith as early as you 
please in the morning, or to Carlisle 
if you choose to go north. I will make 
your excuses to Lady Elizabeth. Good- 
night." 

Cousin George stood for a second in 
doubt, and then shook hands with the 
baronet. He reached Penrith the next 
morning soon after ten, and breakfasted 
alone at the hotel. 

There were but very few words spoken 
on the occasion between the father and 
the daughter, but Emily did succeed in 



having pretty nearly the truth of what 
had taken place. On the Monday her 
mother gave her the following note : 

" Dearest : At your father's bidding 
I have gone suddenly. You will under- 
stand why I have done so. I shall try 
to do just as he would have me ; but 
you will, I know, be quite sure that I 
should never give you up. Yours for 
ever and ever, G. H." 

The father had thought much of it, 
and at last had determined that Emily 
should have the letter. 

In the course of the week there came 
other guests to Humblethwaite, and it 
so chanced that there was a lady who 
knew the Allinghams, who had unfor- 
tunately seen the Allinghams at Good- 
wood, and who, most unfortunately, 
stated in Emily's hearing that she had 
seen George Hotspur at Goodwood. 

" He was not there," said Emily, quite 
boldly. 

"Oh yes — with the Allinghams as 
usual. He is always with them at 
Goodwood." 

"He was not at the last meeting," 
said Emily, smiling. 

The lady said nothing till her lord 
was present, and then appealed to him : 
"Frank, didn't you see George Hotspur 
with the Allinghams at Goodwood, last 
July?" 

"To be sure I did, and lost a pony 
to him on Eros." 

The lady looked at Emily, who said 
nothing further, but she was still quite 
convinced that George Hotspur had not 
been at those Goodwood races. 

It is so hard, when you have used a 
lie commodiously, to bury it and get 
well rid of it ! 





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PART IV. 



CHAPTER X. 
MR. HART AND CAPTAIN STUBBER. 

WHEN George Hotspur left Hum- 
blethwaite, turned out of the 
house by the angry baronet early in the 
morning — as the reader will remember 
— he was at his own desire driven to 
Penrith, choosing to go south rather 
than north. He had doubted for a while 
as to his immediate destination. The 
Allinghams were still at Castle Corry, 
and he might have received great com- 
fort from her ladyship's advice and en- 
couragement. But, intimate as he was 
with the Allinghams, he did not dare to 
take a liberty with the earl. A certain 
allowance of splendid hospitality at 
Castle Corry was at his disposal every 
year, and Lord Allingham always wel- 
comed him with thorough kindness. 
But George Hotspur had in some fash- 
ion been made to understand that he 
was not to overstay his time ; and he 
was quite aware that the earl could 
be very disagreeable upon occasions. 
There was a something in the earl of 
which George was afraid ; and, to tell 
the truth, he did not dare to go back to 
Castle Corry. And then, might it not be 
well for him to make immediate prepa- 
ration in London for those inquiries re- 
specting his debts and his character 
which Sir Harry had decided to make ? 
It would be very difficult for him to 
46 



make any preparation that could lead 
to a good result ; but if no preparation 
were made, the result would be very 
bad indeed. It might perhaps be pos- 
sible to do something with Mr. Hart and 
Captain Stubber. He had no other im- 
mediate engagements. In October he 
was due to shoot pheasants with a dis- 
tinguished party in Norfolk, but this 
business which he had now in hand was 
of so much importance that even the 
pheasant-shooting and the distinguished 
party were not of much moment to him. 
He went to Penrith, and thence direct 
to London. It was the habit of his life 
to give up his London lodgings when 
he left town at the end of the season, 
and spare himself the expense of any 
home as long as he could find friends 
to entertain him. There are certain 
items of the cost of living for which the 
greatest proficient in the art of tick must 
pay, or he will come to a speedy end ; 
and a man's lodging is one of them. 
If indeed the spendthrift adapts him- 
self to the splendor of housekeeping, he 
may, provided his knowledge of his 
business be complete and his courage 
adequate, house himself gloriously for a 
year or two with very small payment in 
ready money. He may even buy a 
mansion with an incredibly small out- 
lay, and, when once in it, will not easi- 
ly allow himself to be extruded. George 
Hotspur, however, not from any want 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



47 



of knowledge or of audacity, but from 
the nature of the life he chose to lead, 
had abstained from such investment of 
his credit, and had paid for his lodgings 
in St. James street. He was conse- 
quently houseless at the moment, and 
on his arrival in London took himself 
to a hotel close behind the military club 
to which he belonged. 

At this moment he was comparatively 
a rich man. He had between three and 
four hundred pounds at a bank in which 
he kept an account when possessed of 
funds. But demands upon him were 
very pressing, and there was a certain 
Captain Stubber who was bitter against 
him, almost to blood, because one Mr. 
Abraham Hart had received two thou- 
sand pounds from the proceeds of Sir 
Harry's generosity. Captain Stubber 
had received not a shilling, and had 
already threatened Cousin George with 
absolute exposure if something were not 
done to satisfy him. 

George, when he had ordered his 
dinner at his club, wrote the following 
letter to Lady Allingham. He had 
intended to write from Penrith in the 
morning, but when there had been out 
of sorts and unhappy, and had disliked 
to confess, after his note of triumph 
sounded on the previous evening, that 
he had been turned out of Humble- 
thwaite. He had got over that feeling 
during the day, with the help of sundry 
glasses of sherry and a little mixed 
curacoa and brandy which he took im- 
mediately on his arrival in London ; 
and, so supported, made a clean breast 
of it, as the reader shall see : 

"Dear Lady A," he said: "Here I 
am, back in town, banished from heaven. 
My darling, gentle future papa-in-law 
gave me to understand, when I told him 
the extent of my hopes last night, that 
the outside of the park gates at Humble- 
thwaite was the place for me ; neverthe- 
less he sent me to Penrith with the 
family horses ; and, taking it as a whole, 
1 think that my interview with him, 
though very disagreeable, was not un- 
satisfactory. I told him everything that 
I could tell him. He was kind enough 



to call me a blackguard (!!!) because I 
had gone to Emily without speaking to 
him first. On such occasions, however, 
a man takes anything. I ventured to 
suggest that what I had done was not 
unprecedented among young people, 
and hinted that while he could make 
me the future master of Humblethwaite, 
I could make my cousin the future Lady 
Hotspur ; and that in no other way 
could Humblethwaite and the Hotspurs 
be kept together. It was wonderful how 
he cooled down after a while, saying 
that he would pay all my debts if he 
found them — satisfactory. I can only 
say that I never found them so. 

" It ended in this : that he is to make 
inquiry about me, and that I am to have 
my cousin unless I am found out to be 
very bad indeed. How or when the 
inquiries will be made I do not know, 
but here I am to prepare for them. 
"Yours always most faithfully, 

"G. H. 

" I do not like to ask Allingham to do 
anything for me. No man ever had a 
kinder friend than I have had in him, 
and I know that he objects to meddle 
in the money matters of other people. 
But if he could lend me his name for a 
thousand pounds till I can get these 
things settled, I believe I could get over 
every other difficulty. I should as a 
matter of course include the amount in 
the list of debts which I should give to 
Sir Harry ; but the sum at once, which 
I could raise on his name without 
trouble to him, would enable me to 
satisfy the only creditor who will be 
likely to do me real harm with Sir 
Harry. I think you will understand all 
this, and will perceive how very material 
the kindness to me may be ; but if you 
think that Allingham will be unwilling 
to do it, you had better not show him 
this letter." 

It was the mixed curacoa and brandy 
which gave George Hotspur the courage 
to make the request contained in his 
postscript. He had not intended to 
make it when he sat down to write, but 
as he wrote the idea had struck him 
that if ever a man ought to use a friend 



4 8 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



this was an occasion for doing so. If 
he could get a thousand pounds from 
Lord Allingham, he might be able to 
stop Captain Stubber's mouth. He did 
not believe that he should be successful, 
and he thought it very probable that 
Lord Allingham might express vehe- 
ment displeasure. But the game was 
worth the candle, and then he knew 
that he could trust the countess. 

London was very empty, and he 
passed a wretched evening at his club. 
There were not men enough to make up 
a pool, and he was obliged to content 
himself with a game of billiards with an 
old half-pay naval captain, who never 
left London, and who would bet nothing 
beyond a single shilling on the game. 
The half-pay navy captain won four 
games, thereby paying for his dinner, 
and then Cousin George went sulkily to 
bed. 

He had come up to town expressly 
to see Captain Stubber and Mr. Hart, 
and perhaps also to see another friend 
from whom some advice might be had ; 
but on the following morning he found 
himself very averse to seeking any of 
these advisers. He had applied to Lady 
Allingham for assistance, and he told 
himself that it would be wise to wait for 
her answer. And yet he knew that it 
would not be wise to wait, as Sir Harry 
would certainly be quick in making his 
promised inquiries. For four days he 
hung about between his hotel and his 
club, and then he got Lady Allingham's 
answer. We need only quote the pas- 
sage which had reference to George's 
special request : 

"Gustavus says that he will have 
nothing to do with money. You know 
his feelings about it. And he says that 
it would do no good. Whatever the 
debts are, tell them plainly to Sir Harry. 
If this be some affair of play, as Gus- 
tavus supposes, tell that to Sir Harry. 
Gustavus thinks that the baronet would 
without doubt pay any such debt which 
could be settled or partly settled by a 
thousand pounds." 

" D- — d heartless, selfish fellow ! 
quite incapable of anything like true 
friendship," said Cousin George to him- 



self, when he read Lady Allingham's 
letter. 

Now he must do something. Hither- 
to, neither Stubber, nor Hart, nor the 
other friend knew of his presence in 
London. Hart, though a Jew, was much 
less distasteful to him than Captain 
Stubber, and to Mr. Abraham Hart he 
went first. 

Mr. Abraham Hart was an attorney 
— so called by himself and friends — 
living in a genteel street abutting on 
Gray's Inn road, with whose residence 
and place of business, all beneath the 
same roof, George Hotspur was very 
well acquainted. Mr. Hart was a man 
in the prime of life, with black hair and 
a black beard, and a new shining hat, 
and a coat with a velvet collar and silk 
lining. He was always dressed in the 
same way, and had never yet been seen 
by Cousin George without his hat on his 
head. He was a pleasant-spoken, very 
ignorant, smiling, jocose man, with a 
slightly Jewish accent, who knew his 
business well, pursued it diligently, and 
considered himself to have a clear con- 
science. He had certain limits of for- 
bearance with his customers — limits 
which were not narrow ; but when those 
were passed he would sell the bed from 
under a dying woman with her babe, or 
bread from the mouth of a starving 
child. To do so was the necessity of 
his trade, for his own guidance in which 
he had made laws. The breaking of 
those laws by himself would bring his 
trade to an end, and therefore he de- 
clined to break them. 

Mr. Hart was a man who attended to 
his business, and he was found at home 
even in September. "Yes, Mr. 'Oshspur, 
it's about time something was done 
now, ain't it?" said Mr. Hart, smiling 
pleasantly. 

Cousin George, also smiling, remind- 
ed his friend of the two thousand pounds 
paid to him only a few months since. 

"Not a shilling was mine of that, 
Captain 'Oshspur — not a brass fardin'. 
That was quite neshesshary just then, 
as you know, Captain 'Oshspur, or the 
fat must have been in the fire. And 
what's up now?" 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



49 



Not without considerable difficulty 
Cousin George explained to the Jew 
gentleman what was "up." He prob- 
ably assumed more inclination on the 
part of Sir Harry for the match than he 
was justified in doing, but was very 
urgent in explaining to Mr. Hart that 
when inquiry was made on the part of 
Sir Harry as to the nature of the debt, 
the naked truth should not be exactly 
told. 

" It was very bad, vasn't it, Captain 
'Oshspur, having to divide with that fel- 
low Stubber the money from the 'Orse 
Guards ? You vas too clever for both 
of us there, Mr. 'Oshspur ; veren't you 
now, Captain 'Oshspur ? And I've two 
cheques still on my 'ands which is 
marked 'No account!' 'No account' 
is very bad. Isn't ' No account ' very 
bad on a cheque, Captain 'Oshspur? 
And then I've that cheque on Drum- 
mond, signed — ■ God knows how that 
is signed ! There ain't no such person 
at all. Baldebeque ! That's more like it 
than nothing else. When you brought 
me that, I thought there was a Lord 
Baldebeque ; and I know you live among 
lords, Captain 'Oshspur." 

"On my honor I brought it you just 
as I took it at Tattersall's." 

" There was an expert as I showed it 
to says it is your handwriting, Captain 
'Oshspur." 

"He lies!" said Cousin George, 
fiercely. 

"But when Stubber would have half 
the sale-money for the commission — 
and wanted it all too ! — Lord ! how he 
did curse and swear ! That was bad, 
Captain 'Oshspur." 

Then Cousin George swallowed his 
fierceness for a time, and proceeded to 
explain to Mr. Hart that Sir Harry 
would certainly pay all his debts if only 
those little details could be kept back 
to which Mr. Hart had so pathetically 
alluded. Above all, it would be neces- 
sary to preserve in obscurity that little 
mistake which had been made as to the 
pawning of the commission. Cousin 
George told a great many lies, but he 
told also much that was true. The Jew 
did not believe one of the lies, but then 



neither did he believe much of the truth . 
When George had finished his story, 
then Mr. Hart had a story of his own 
to tell : 

" To let you know all about it, Cap- 
tain 'Oshspur, the old gent has begun 
about it already." 

"What, Sir Harry?" 

"Yes, Sir 'Arry. Mr. Boltby— " 

" He's the family lawyer." 

"I suppose so, Captain 'Oshspur. 
Veil, he vas here yesterday, and vas 
very polite. If I'd just tell him all 
about everything, he thought as 'ow the 
baronet would settle the affair off-'and. 
He vas very generous in his offer, vas 
Mr. Boltby ; but he didn't say nothin' 
of any marriage, Captain 'Oshspur." 

" Of course he didn't. You are not 
such a fool as to suppose he would." 

" No ; I ain't such a fool as I looks, 
Captain 'Oshspur, am I ? I didn't think 
it likely, seeing vhat vas the nature of 
his interrogatories. Mr. Boltby seemed 
to know a good deal. It is astonishing 
how much them fellows do know." 

"You didn't tell him anything?" 

"Not much, Captain 'Oshspur — not 
at fust starting. I'm a-going to have 
my money, you know, Captain 'Oshspur. 
And if I see my vay to my money one 
vay, and if I don't see no vay the other 
vay, vhy, vhat's a man to do ? You 
can't blame me, Captain 'Oshspur. I've 
been very indulgent with you — I have, 
Captain 'Oshspur." 

Cousin George promised, threatened, 
explained, swore by all his gods, and 
ended by assuring Mr. Abraham Hart 
that his life and death were in that gen- 
tleman's keeping. If Mr. Hart would 
only not betray him, the money would 
be safe and the marriage would be safe, 
and everything would easily come right. 
Over and above other things, Cousin 
George would owe to Mr. Abraham 
Hart a debt of gratitude which never 
would be wholly paid. Mr. Hart could 
only say that he meant to have his 
money, but that he did not mean to 
be "ungenteel." Much in his opinion 
must depend on what Stubber would 
do. As for Stubber, he couldn't speak 
to Stubber himself, as he and Stubber 



5o 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



"were two." As for himself, if he could 
get his money he certainly would not 
be "ungenteel." And he meant what 
he said — meant more than he said. He 
would still run some risk rather than 
split on an old customer such as " Cap- 
tain 'Oshspur." But now that a sudden 
way to his money was opened to him, 
he could not undertake to lose sight 
of it. 

With a very heavy heart Cousin 
George went from Mr. Hart's house to 
the house-of-call of Captain Stubber. 
Mr. Boltby had been before him with 
Hart, and he augured the worst from 
Sir Harry's activity in the matter. If 
Mr. Boltby had already seen the cap- 
tain, all his labor would probably be 
too late. Where Captain Stubber lived, 
even so old a friend of his as Cousin 
George did not know. And in what 
way Captain Stubber had become a 
captain, George, though he had been a 
military man himself, had never learned. 
But Captain Stubber had a house-of-call 
in a very narrow, dirty little street near 
Red Lion Square. It was close to a 
public-house, but did not belong to the 
public-house. George Hotspur, who 
had been very often to the place-of-call, 
had never seen there any appurtenances 
of the captain's business. There were 
no account-books, no writing-table, no 
ink even, except that contained in a 
little box with a screw which Captain 
Stubber would take out of his own 
pocket. Mr. Hart was so far establish- 
ed and civilized as to keep a boy whom 
he called a clerk, but Captain Stubber 
seemed to keep nothing. A dirty little 
girl at the house-of-call would run and 
fetch Captain Stubber if he were with- 
in reach, but most usually an appoint- 
ment had to be made with the captain. 
Cousin George well remembered the 
day when his brother captain first made 
his acquaintance. About two years 
after the commencement of his life in 
London, Captain Stubber had had an 
interview with him in the little waiting- 
room just within the club doors. Cap- 
tain Stubber then had in his possession 
a trumpery note of hand with George's 
signature, which, as he stated, he had 



"done" for a small tradesman with 
whom George had been fool enough to 
deal for cigars. From that day to the 
present he and Captain Stubber had 
been upon most intimate and confiden- 
tial terms. If there was any one in 
the world whom Cousin George really 
hated, it was Captain Stubber. 

On this occasion Captain Stubber was 
forthcoming after a delay of about a 
quarter of an hour. During that time 
Cousin George had stood in the filthy 
little parlor of the house-of-call in a 
frame of mind which was certainly not 
to be envied. Had Mr. Boltby also 
been with Captain Stubber ? He knew 
his two creditors well enough to under- 
stand that the Jew, getting his money, 
would be better pleased to serve him 
than to injure him. But the captain 
would from choice do him an ill turn. 
Nothing but self-interest would tie up 
Captain Stubber's tongue. Captain 
Stubber was a tall, thin gentleman, 
probably over sixty years of age, with 
very seedy clothes and a red nose. He 
always had Berlin gloves, very much 
torn about the fingers, carried a cotton 
umbrella, wore — as his sole mark of re- 
spectability — a very stiff, clean, white 
collar round his neck, and invariably 
smelt of gin. No one knew where he 
lived, or how he carried on his business ; 
but, such as he was, he had dealings 
with large sums of money, or at least 
with bills professing to stand for large 
sums, and could never have been found 
without a case in his pocket crammed 
with these documents. The quarter of 
an hour seemed to George to be an age, 
but at last Captain Stubber knocked at 
the front door and was shown into the 
room. 

"How d'ye do, Captain Stubber?" 
said George. 

'" I'd do a deal better, Captain Hot- 
spur, if I found it easier sometimes to 
come by my own." 

"Well, yes; but no doubt you have 
your own profit in the delay, Captain 
Stubber." 

" It's nothing to you, Captain Hot- 
spur, whether I have profit or loss. All 
you 'as got to look to is to pay me what 






SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



5 1 



you owe me. And I intend that you 
shall, or by G — you shall suffer for it ! 
I'm not going to stand it any longer. 
I know where to have you, and have 
you I will." 

Cousin George was not quite sure 
whether the captain did know where to 
have him. If Mr. Boltby had been with 
him, it might be so ; but then Captain 
Stubber was not a man so easily found 
as Mr. Hart, and the connection be- 
tween himself and the captain might 
possibly have escaped Mr. Boltby's in- 
quiries. It was very difficult to tell the 
story of his love to such a man as Cap- 
tain Stubber, but he did tell it. He ex- 
plained all the difficulties of Sir Harry's 
position in regard to the title and the 
property, and he was diffuse upon his 
own advantages as head of the family, 
and of the need there was that he should 
marry the heiress. 

" But there is not an acre of it will 
come to you unless he gives it you?" 
inquired Captain Stubber. 

"Certainly not," said Cousin George, 
anxious that the captain should under- 
stand the real facts of the case to a cer- 
tain extent. 

"And he needn't give you the girl ?" 

"The girl will give herself, my friend." 

"And he needn't give the girl the 
property ?" 

"But he will. She is his only child." 

" I don't believe a word about it. I 
don't believe such a one as Sir Harry 
Hotspur will lift his hand to help such 
as you." 

"He has offered to pay my debts 
already." 

"Very well. Let him make the offer 
to me. Look here, Captain Hotspur, 
I am not a bit afraid of you, you 
know." 

" Who asks you to be afraid ?" 

" Of all the liars I ever met with, you 
are the worst." 

George Hotspur smiled, looking up 
at the red nose of the malignant old 
man as though it were a joke ; but that 
which he had to bear at this moment 
was a heavy burden. Captain Stubber 
probably understood this, for he re- 
peated his words : 



"I never knew any liar nigh so bad 
as you. And then there is such a deal 
worse than lies. I believe I could send 
you to penal servitude, Captain Hot- 
spur." 

"You could do no such thing," said 
Cousin George, still trying to look as 
though it were a joke, "and you don't 
think you could." 

"I'll do my best, at any rate, if I 
don't have my money soon. You could 
pay Mr. Hart two thousand pounds, but 
you think I'm nobody." 

" I am making arrangements now for 
having every shilling paid to you." 

"Yes, I see. I've known a good 
deal about your arrangements. Look 
here, Captain Hotspur, unless I have 
five hundred pounds on or before Satur- 
day, I'll write to Sir Harry Hotspur, 
and I'll give him a statement of all our 
dealings. You can trust me, though I 
can't trust you. Good-morning, Cap- 
tain Hotspur." 

Captain Stubber did believe in his 
heart that he was a man much injured 
by Cousin George, and that Cousin 
George was one whom he was entitled 
to despise. And yet a poor wretch 
more despisable, more dishonest, more 
false, more wicked or more cruel than 
Captain Stubber could not have been 
found in all London. His business was 
carried on with a small capital borrowed 
from a firm of low attorneys, who were 
the real holders of the bills he carried, 
and the profits which they allowed him 
to make were very trifling. But from 
Cousin George during the last twelve 
months he had made no profit at all. 
And Cousin George in former days had 
trodden upon him as on a worm. 

Cousin George did not fail to perceive 
that Mr. Boltby had not as yet applied 
to Captain Stubber. 



CHAPTER XI. 

MRS. MORTON. 

Five hundred pounds before Satur- 
day, and this was Tuesday ! As Cousin 
George was taken westward from Red 
Lion Square in a cab, three or four dif- 



52 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



ferent lines of conduct suggested them- 
selves to him. In the first place, it 
would be a very good thing to murder 
Captain Stubber. In the present effemi- 
nate state of civilization, and with the 
existing scruples as to the value of hu- 
man life, he did not see his way clearly 
in this direction, but entertained the 
project rather as a beautiful castle in 
the air. The two next suggestions were 
to pay him the money demanded, or to 
pay him half of it. The second sug- 
gestion was the simpler, as the state of 
Cousin George's funds made it feasible ; 
but then that brute would probably re- 
fuse to take the half in lieu of the whole 
when he found that his demand had 
absolutely produced a tender of ready- 
cash. As for paying the whole, it might 
perhaps be done. It was still possible 
that with such prospects before him as 
those he now possessed, he could raise 
a hundred or hundred and fifty pounds ; 
but then he would be left penniless. 
The last course of action which he con- 
templated was to take no further notice 
of Captain Stubber, and let him tell his 
story to Sir Harry if he chose to tell it. 
The man was such a blackguard that 
his entire story would probably not be 
believed ; and then was it not almost 
necessary that Sir Harry should hear it ? 
Of course there would be anger, and 
reproaches, and threats, and difficulty. 
But if Emily would be true to him, they 
might all by degrees be leveled down. 
This latter line of conduct would be 
practicable, and had this beautiful at- 
traction — that it would save for his own 
present use that charming balance of 
ready money which he still possessed. 
Had Allingham possessed any true 
backbone of friendship, he might now, 
he thought, have been triumphant over 
all his difficulties. 

When he sat down to his solitary 
dinner at his club, he was very tired 
with his day's work. Attending to the 
affairs of such gentlemen as Mr. Hart 
and Captain Stubber — who well know 
how to be masterful when their time for 
being masterful has come — is fatiguing 
enough. But he had another task to 
perform before he went to bed, which 



he would fain have kept unperformed 
were it possible to do so. He had writ- 
ten to a third friend to make an appoint- 
ment' for the evening, and this appoint- 
ment he was bound to keep. He would 
very much rather have stayed at his 
club and played billiards with the navy 
captain, even though he might again 
have lost his shillings. The third friend 
was that Mrs. Morton to whom Lord 
Allingham had once alluded. "I sup- 
posed that it was coming," said Mrs. 
Morton, when she had listened, without 
letting a word fall from her own lips, to 
the long rambling story which Cousin 
George told her — a rambling story in 
which there were many lies, but in 
which there was the essential truth that 
Cousin George intended, if other things 
could be made to fit, to marry his cou- 
sin Emily Hotspur. Mrs. Morton was 
a woman who had been handsome — 
dark, thin, with great brown eyes and 
thin lips, and a long, well-formed nose : 
she was in truth three years younger 
than George Hotspur, but she looked 
to be older. She was a clever woman, 
and well read too, and in every respect 
superior to the man whom she had con- 
descended to love. She earned her 
bread by her profession as an actress, 
and had done so since her earliest years. 
What story there may be of a Mr. Mor- 
ton who had years ago married and ill- 
used and deserted her, need not here be 
told. Her strongest passion at this mo- 
ment was love for the cold-blooded 
reprobate who had now come to tell her 
of his intended marriage. She had in- 
deed loved George Hotspur, and he had 
been sufficiently attached to her to con- 
descend to take aid from her earnings. 

" I supposed that it was coming," she 
said in a low voice when he brought to 
an end the rambling story which she 
had allowed him to tell without a word 
of interruption. 

"What is a fellow to do?" asked 
George. 

" Is she handsome ?" 

George thought that he might miti- 
gate the pain by making little of his 
cousin: "Well, no — not particularly. 
She looks like a lady." 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



53 



"And I suppose I don't." For a mo- 
ment there was a.virulence in this which 
made poor George almost gasp. This 
woman was patient to a marvel, long- 
bearing, affectionate, imbued with that 
conviction so common to women and 
the cause of so much delight to men — 
that ill-usage and suffering are intended 
for women ; but George knew that she 
could turn upon him, if goaded far 
enough, and rend him. He could de- 
pend upon her for very much, because 
she loved him ; but he was afraid of 
her. "You didn't mean that, I know," 
she added, smiling. 

"Of course I didn't." 

"No ; your cruelties don't lie in that 
line : do they, George ?" 

" I'm sure I never mean to be cruel 
to you, Lucy." 

" I don't think you do. I hardly be- 
lieve that you ever mean anything, ex- 
cept just to get along and live." 

"A fellow must live, you know," said 
George. 

In ordinary society, George Hotspur 
could be bright, and he was proud of 
being bright. With this woman he was 
always subdued, always made to play 
second fiddle, always talked like a boy, 
and he knew it. He had loved her once, 
if he was capable of loving anything ; 
but her mastery over him wearied him, 
even though he was, after a fashion, 
proud of her cleverness, and he wished 
that she were — well, dead, if the reader 
choose that mode of expressing what 
probably were George's wishes. But 
he had never told himself that he de- 
sired her death. He could build pleas- 
ant castles in the air as to the murder 
of Captain Stubber, but his thoughts 
did not travel that way in reference to 
Mrs. Morton. 

"She is not pretty, then — this rich 
bride of yours ?" 

" Not particularly : she's well enough, 
you know." 

"And well enough is good enough for 
you, is it ? Do you love her, George ?" 

The woman's voice was very low and 
plaintive as she asked the question. 
Though from moment to moment she 
could use her little skill in pricking him 



with her satire, still she loved him ; and 
she would vary her tone, and as at one 
minute she would make him uneasy by 
her raillery, so at the next she would 
quell him by her tenderness. She look- 
ed into his face for a reply when he 
hesitated. "Tell me that you do not 
love her," she said, passionately. 

"Not particularly," replied George. 

"And yet you would marry her ?" 

"What's a fellow to do? You see 
how I am fixed about the title. These 
are kinds of things to which a man sit- 
uated as I am is obliged to submit." 

"Royal obligations, as one might call 
them." 

" By George, yes !" said George, alto- 
gether missing the satire. From any 
other lips he would have been sharp 
enough to catch it. "One can't see the 
whole thing go to the dogs after it has 
kept its head up so long. And then, 
you know, a man can't live altogether 
without an income ?" 

"You have done so, pretty well." 

" I know that I owe you a lot of mon- 
ey, Lucy ; and I know also that I mean 
to pay you." 

" Don't talk about that. I don't know 
how at such a time as this you can bring 
yourself to mention it." Then she rose 
from her seat and flashed into wrath, 
carried on by the spirit of her own 
words : "Look here, George : if you send 
me any of that woman's money, by the 
living God, I will send it back to her- 
self. To buy me with her money ! But 
it is so like a man." 

" I didn't mean that. Sir Harry is to 
pay all my debts." 

"And will not that be the same? 
Will it not be her money ? Why is he 
to pay your debts ? Because he loves 
you ?" 

"It is all a family arrangement. You 
don't quite understand." 

"Of course I don't understand. Such 
a one as I cannot lift myself so high 
above the earth. Great families form a 
sort of heaven of their own, which poor 
broken, ill-conditioned, wretched, com- 
mon creatures such as I am cannot hope 
to comprehend. But, by Heaven ! what 
a lot of the vilest clay goes to the mak- 



54 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



ing of that garden of Eden ! Look 
here, George : you have nothing of your 
own ?" 

"Not much, indeed." 

" Nothing. Is not that so ? You can 
answer me, at any rate." 

"You know all about it," he said — 
truly enough, for she did know. 

"And you cannot earn a penny ?" 

" I don't know that I can. I never 
was very good at earning anything." 

" It isn't gentlemanlike, is it ? But I 
can earn money." 

" By George, yes ! I've often envied 
you. I have indeed." 

" How flattering ! As far as it went 
you should have had it all — nearly all 
— if you could have been true to me." 

"But, Lucy, about the family ?" 

"And about your debts ? Of course 
I couldn't pay debts which were always 
increasing. And of course your prom- 
ises for the future were false. We both 
knew that they were false when they 
were made. Did we not?" She paused 
for an answer, but he made none. 
" They meant nothing ; did they ? He 
is dead now." 

"Morton is dead ?" 

"Yes: he died in San Francisco, 
months ago." 

" I couldn't have known that, Lucy : 
could I ?" 

" Don't be a fool ! What difference 
would it have made ? Don't pretend 
anything so false. It would be disgust- 
ing on the very face of it. It mattered 
nothing to you whether he lived or 
died. When is it to be ?" 

" When is what to be ?" ' 

"Your marriage with this ill-looking 
young woman, who has got money, but 
whom you do not even pretend to love." 

It struck even George that this was a 
way in which Emily Hotspur should not 
be described. She had been acknow- 
ledged to be the beauty of the last 
season — one of the finest girls that had 
ever been seen about London ; and as 
for loving her, he did love her. A 
man might be fond of two dogs or have 
two pet horses, and why shouldn't he 
love two women ? Of course he loved 
his cousin. But his circumstances at 



the moment were difficult, and he didn't 
quite know how to explain all this. 

"When is it to be ?" she said, urging 
her question imperiously. 

In answer to this he gave her to 
understand that there was still a good 
deal of difficulty. He told her some- 
thing of his position with Captain Stub- 
ber, and defined — not with absolute cor- 
rectness — the amount of consent which 
Sir Harry had given to the marriage. 

"And what am I to do ?" she asked. 

He looked blankly into her face. She 
then rose again, and unlocking a desk 
with a key that hung at her girdle, she 
took from it a bundle of papers. 

"There!" she said — "there is the let- 
ter in which I have your promise to 
marry me when I am free, as I am now. 
It could not be less injurious to you 
than when locked up there, but the 
remembrance of it might frighten you." 
She threw the letter to him across the 
table, but he did not touch it. "And 
here are others which might be taken to 
mean the same thing. There ! I am 
not so injured as I might seem to be, 
for I never believed them. How could 
I believe anything that you would say 
to me — anything that you would write ?" 

"Don't be down on me too hard, 
Lucy." 

" No, I will not be down upon you at 
all. If these things pained you, I would 
not say them. Shall I destroy the 
letters ?" Then she took them, one 
after another, and tore them into small 
fragments. "You will be easier now, I 
know." 

" Easy ? I am not very easy, I can 
tell you." 

" Captain Stubber will not let you oft 
so gently as I do. Is that it ?" 

Then there was made between them 
a certain pecuniary arrangement, which, 
if Mrs. Morton trusted at all the under- 
taking made to her, showed a most 
wonderful faith on her part. She would 
lend him two hundred and fifty pounds 
toward the present satisfaction of Cap- 
tain Stubber ; and this sum, to be lent 
for such a purpose, she would consent 
to receive back again out of Sir Harry's 
money. She must see a certain man- 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



55 



ager, she said, but she did not doubt 
but that her loan would be forthcoming 
on the Saturday morning. Captain 
George Hotspur accepted the offer, and 
was profuse in his thanks. After that, 
when he was going, her weakness was 
almost equal to his vileness. 

"You will come and see me?" she 
said as she held his hand. Again he 
paused a moment. "George, you will 
come and see me ?" 

"Oh, of course I will." 

"A great deal I can bear, a great 
deal I have borne, but do not be a 
coward. I knew you before she did, 
and have loved you better, and have 
treated you better than ever she will do. 
Of course you will come ?" 

He promised her that he would, and 
then went from her. 

On the Saturday morning Captain 
Stubber was made temporarily happy 
by the most unexpected receipt of five 
hundred pounds. 



CHAPTER XII. 
THE HUNT BECOMES HOT. 

September passed away with Cap- 
tain Hotspur very unpleasantly. He 
had various interviews with Captain 
Stubber, with Mr. Hart and with other 
creditors, and found very little amuse- 
ment. Lady Allingham had written to 
him again, advising him strongly to 
make out a complete list of his debts 
and to send them boldly to Sir Harry. 
He endeavored to make out the list, but 
had hardly the audacity to do it even 
for his own information. When the end 
of September had come, and he was pre- 
paring himself to join the party of dis- 
tinguished pheasant-shooters in Norfolk, 
he had as yet sent no list to Sir Harry, 
nor had he heard a word from Humble- 
thwaite. Certain indications had reached 
him, continued to reach him from day 
to day, that Mr. Boltby was at work, 
but no communication had been made 
actually to himself, even by Mr. Boltby. 
When and how and in what form he was 
expected to send the schedule of his 
debts to Sir Harry he did not know ; and 



thus it came to pass that when the time 
came for his departure from town, he 
had sent no such schedule at all. His 
sojourn, however, with the distinguished 
party was to last only for a week, and 
then he would really go to work. He 
would certainly himself write to Sir 
Harry before the end of October. 

In the mean time, there came other 
troubles, various other troubles. One 
other trouble vexed him sore. There 
came to him a note from a gentleman 
with whom his acquaintance was famil- 
iar though slight, as follows : 

" Dear Hotspur : Did I not meet you 
at the last Goodwood meeting ? If you 
don't mind, pray answer me the ques- 
tion. You will remember, I do not 
doubt, that I did — that I lost my money 
too, and paid it. Yours ever, 

"F. Stackpoole." 

He understood it all immediately. 
The Stackpooles had been at Humble- 
thwaite. But what business had the 
man to write letters to him with the 
object of getting him into trouble ? He 
did not answer the note, but neverthe- 
less it annoyed him much. And then 
there was another great vexation. He 
was now running low in funds for pres- 
ent use. He had made what he feared 
was a most useless outlay in satisfying 
Stubber's immediate greed for money, 
and the effect was, that at the beginning 
of the last week in September he found 
himself with hardly more than fifty 
sovereigns in his possession, which would 
be considerably reduced before he could 
leave town. He had been worse off 
before, very much worse ; but it was 
especially incumbent on him now to 
keep up that look of high feather which 
cannot be maintained in its proper 
brightness without ready cash. He must 
take a man-servant with him among 
the distinguished guests : he must fee 
gamekeepers, pay railway fares, and 
have loose cash about him for a hun- 
dred purposes. He wished it to be 
known that he was going to marry his 
cousin. He might find some friend with 
softer heart than Allingham, who would 
lend him a few hundreds on being made 



56 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



to believe in this brilliant destiny ; but 
a roll of bank-notes in his pocket would 
greatly aid him in making the destiny 
credible. Fifty pounds, as he well 
knew, would melt away from him like 
snow. The last fifty pounds of a thou- 
sand always go quicker than any of the 
nineteen other fifties. \^. 

Circumstances had made it impossible 
for him to attend the Leger this year, 
but he had put a little money on it. 
The result had done nothing for or 
against him — except this, that whereas 
he received between one and two hun- 
dred pounds, he conceived the idea of 
paying only a portion of what he had 
lost. With reference to the remainder, 
he wrote to ask his friend if it would be 
quite the same if the money were paid at 
Christmas. If not, of course it should 
be sent at once. The friend was one 
of the Allingham set, who had been at 
Castle Corry, and who had heard of 
George's hopes in reference to his cou- 
sin. George added a postscript to his 
letter : " This kind of thing will be over 
for me very soon. I am to be a Bene- 
dict, and the house of Humblethwaite 
and the title are to be kept together. I 
know you will congratulate me. My 
cousin is a charming girl, and worth all 
that I shall lose, ten times over." It 
was impossible, he thought, that the 
man should refuse him credit for eighty 
pounds till Christmas, when the man 
should know that he was engaged to be 
married to twenty thousand a year ! 
But the man did refuse. The man wrote 
back to say that he did not understand 
this kind of thing at all, and that he 
wanted his money at once. George 
Hotspur sent the man his money, not 
without many curses on the illiberality 
of such a curmudgeon. Was it not 
cruel that a fellow would not give him 
so trifling an assistance when he wanted 
it so badly ? All the world seemed to 
conspire to hurt him just at this most 
critical moment of his life. In many 
of his hardest emergencies for ready 
money he had gone to Mrs. Morton. 
But even he felt that just at present he 
could not ask her for more. 

Nevertheless, a certain amount of 



cash was made to be forthcoming before 
he took his departure for Norfolk. In 
the course of the preceding spring he 
had met a young gentleman in Mr. 
Hart's small front parlor who was there 
upon ordinary business. He was a 
young gentleman with good prospects 
and with some command of ready mon- 
ey, but he liked to live, and would some- 
times want Mr. Hart's assistance. His 
name was Walker, and though he was 
not exactly one of that class in which it 
delighted Captain Hotspur to move, 
nevertheless he was not altogether dis- 
dained by that well-born and well-bred 
gentleman. On the third of October, 
the day before he left London to join 
his distinguished friends in Norfolk, 
George Hotspur changed a cheque for 
nearly three hundred pounds at Mr. 
Walker's banker's. Poor Mr. Walker ! 
But Cousin George went down to Nor- 
folk altogether in high feather. If there 
were play, he would play. He would 
bet about pulling straws if he could find 
an adversary to bet with him. He could 
chink sovereigns about at his ease, at 
any rate, during the week. Cousin 
George liked to chink sovereigns about 
at his ease. And this point of great- 
ness must be conceded to him — that, 
however black might loom the clouds 
of the coming sky, he could enjoy the 
sunshine of the hour. 

In the mean time, Mr. Boltby was 
at work, and before Cousin George had 
shot his last pheasant in such very good 
company, Sir Harry was up in town 
assisting Mr. Boltby. How things had 
gone at Humblethwaite between Sir 
Harry and his daughter must not be 
told on this page ; but the reader may 
understand that nothing had as yet oc- 
curred to lessen Sir Harry's objection 
to the match. There had been some 
correspondence between Sir Harry and 
Mr. Boltby, and Sir Harry had come up 
to town. When the reader learns that 
on the very day on which Cousin George 
and his servant were returning to Lon- 
don by the express train from Norfolk, 
smoking many cigars and drinking many 
glasses — George of sherry, and the ser- 
vant probably of beer and spirits alter- 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



57 



nately — each making himself happy with 
a novel (George's novel being French, 
and that of the servant English sensa- 
tional), — the reader, when he learns 
that on this very day Sir Harry had in- 
terviews with Captain Stubber and also 
with Mrs. Morton, will be disposed to 
think that things were not going very 
well for Cousin George. But then the 
reader does not as yet know the nature 
of the persistency of Emily Hotspur. 

What Sir Harry did with Captain 
Stubber need not be minutely described. 
There can be no doubt that Cousin 
George was not spared by the captain, 
and that when he understood what might 
be the result of telling the truth, he told 
all that he knew. In that matter of the 
five hundred pounds Cousin George had 
really been ill-treated. The payment 
had done him no sort of service what- 
ever. Of Captain Stubber's interview 
with Sir Harry nothing further need now 
be said. But it must be explained that 
Sir Harry, led astray by defective in- 
formation, made a mistake in regard to 
Mrs. Morton, and found out his mistake. 
He did not much like Mrs. Morton, but 
he did not leave her without an ample 
apology. From Mrs. Morton he learned 
nothing whatever in regard to Cousin 
George — nothing but this, that Mrs. 
Morton did not deny that she was ac- 
quainted with Captain Hotspur. Mr. 
Boltby had learned, however, that Cou- 
sin George had drawn the money for a 
cheque payable to her order, and he 
had made himself nearly certain of the 
very nature of the transaction. 

Early on the morning after George's 
return he was run to ground by Mr. 
Boltby's confidential clerk, at the hotel 
behind the club. It was so early, at 
least, that George was still in bed. But 
the clerk, who had breakfasted at eight, 
been at his office by nine, and had 
worked hard for two hours and a half 
since, did not think it at all early. 
George, who knew that his pheasant- 
shooting pleasure was past, and that 
immediate trouble was in store for him, 
had consoled himself over night with a 
good deal of curacoa and seltzer and 
brandy, and had taken these comforting 



potations after a bottle of champagne. 
He was consequently rather out of 
sorts when he was run to ground in his 
very bed-room by Boltby's clerk. He 
was cantankerous at first, and told the 
clerk to go and be d — d. The clerk 
pleaded Sir Harry. Sir Harry was in 
town, and wanted to see his cousin. A 
meeting must of course be arranged. 
Sir Harry wished that it might be in 
Mr. Boltby's private room. When 
Cousin George objected that he did not 
choose to have any interview with Sir 
Harry in presence of the lawyer, the 
clerk very humbly explained that the 
private room would be exclusively for 
the service of the two gentlemen. Sick 
as he was, Cousin George knew that 
nothing was to be gained by quarreling 
with Sir Harry. Though Sir Harry 
should ask for an interview in presence 
of the lord mayor, he must go to it. 
He made the hour as late as he could, 
and at last three o'clock was settled. 

At one, Cousin George was at work 
upon his broiled bones and tea laced 
with brandy, having begun his meal 
with soda and brandy. He was alto- 
gether dissatisfied with himself. Had 
he known on the preceding evening 
what was coming, he would have dined 
on a mutton chop and a pint of sherry, 
and have gone to bed at ten o'clock. 
He looked at himself in the glass, and 
saw that he was bloated and red, and a 
thing foul to behold. It was a matter 
of boast to him — the most pernicious 
boast that ever a man made — that in 
twenty-four hours he could rid himself 
of all outward and inward sign of any 
special dissipation ; but the twenty-four 
hours were needed, and now not twelve 
were allowed him ! Nevertheless, he 
kept his appointment. He tried to in- 
vent some lie which he might send by a 
commissioner, and which might not ruin 
him. But he thought upon the whole 
that it would be safer for him to go. 

When he entered the room he saw at 
a glance that there was to be war — war 
to the knife — between him and Sir 
Harry. He perceived at once that if it 
were worth his while to go on with the 
thing at all, he must do so in sole de- 



58 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



pendence on the spirit and love of Emily- 
Hotspur. Sir Harry at their first greet- 
ing declined to shake hands with him, 
and called him Captain Hotspur. 

"Captain Hotspur," he said, "in a 
word, understand that there must be no 
further question of a marriage between 
you and my daughter." 

"Why not, Sir Harry?" 

"Because, sir — " and then he paused 
— " I would sooner see my girl dead at 
my feet than entrust her to such a one 
as you. It was true what you said to 
me at Humblethwaite. There would 
have been something very alluring to 
me in the idea of joining the property 
and the title together. A man will pay 
much for such a whim. I would not 
unwillingly have paid very much in 
money, but I am not so infamously 
wicked as to sacrifice my daughter ut- 
terly by giving her to one so entirely 
unworthy of her as you are." 

" I told you that I was in debt, Sir 
Harry." 

" I wanted no telling as to that, but 
I did want telling as to your mode of 
life, and I have had it now. You had 
better not press me. You had better 
see Mr. Boltby. He will tell you what 
I am willing to do for you upon re- 
ceiving your written assurance that you 
will never renew your offer of marriage 
to Miss Hotspur." 

"I cannot do that," said Cousin 
George, hoarsely. 

"Then I shall leave your creditors to 
deal with you as they please. I have 
nothing further to suggest myself, and 
I would recommend that you see Mr. 
Boltby before you leave the chambers." 

"What does my cousin say?" he 
asked. 

"Were you at Goodwood last meet- 
ing ?" asked Sir Harry. " But of course 
you were." 

"I was," he answered. He was ob- 
liged to acknowledge so much, not quite 
knowing what Stackpoole might have 
said or done. "But I can explain that." 

" There is no need whatever of any 
explanation. Do you generally borrow 
money from such ladies as Mrs. Mor- 
ton ?" Cousin George blushed when 



this question was asked, but made no 
answer to it. It was one that he could 
not answer. "But it makes no differ- 
ence, Captain Hotspur. I mention these 
things only to let you feel that I know 
you. I must decline any further speech 
with you. I strongly advise you to see 
Mr. Boltby at once. Good-afternoon." 

So saying, the baronet withdrew 
quickly, and Cousin George heard him 
shut the door of the chambers. 

After considering the matter for a 
quarter of an hour, Cousin George made 
up his mind that he would see the 
lawyer. No harm could come to him 
from seeing the lawyer. He was clos- 
eted with Mr. Boltby for nearly an 
hour, and before he left the chamber 
had been forced to confess to things of 
which he had not thought it possible 
that Mr. Boltby should ever have heard. 
Mr. Boltby knew the whole story of the 
money raised on the commission, of the 
liabilities to both Hart and Stubber, and 
had acquainted himself with the history 
of Lord Baldebeque's cheque. Mr. 
Boltby was not indignant, as had been 
Sir Harry, but intimated it as a thing 
beyond dispute that a man who had 
done such things as could be proved 
against Cousin George — and as would 
undoubtedly be proved against him if 
he would not give up his pursuit of the 
heiress — must be disposed of with se- 
verity, unless he retreated at once of his 
own accord. Mr. Boltby did indeed 
hint something about a criminal prosecu- 
tion and utter ruin, and — incarceration. 

But if George Hotspur would renounce 
his cousin utterly, putting his renun- 
ciation on paper, Sir Harry would pay 
all his debts to the extent of twenty 
thousand pounds, would allow him five 
hundred a year on condition that he 
would live out of England, and would 
leave him a further sum of twenty 
thousand pounds by his will, on condi- 
tion that no renewed cause of offence 
were given. 

"You had better perhaps go home 
and think about it, Mr. Hotspur," said 
the lawyer. 

Cousin George did go away and think 
about it. 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



59 



PART V. 



CHAPTER XIII. 
I WILL NOT DESERT HIM. 

SIR HARRY, before he had left Hum- 
blethwaite for London in October, 
had heard enough of his cousin's sins 
to make him sure that the match must 
be opposed with all his authority. In- 
deed he had so felt from the first moment 
in which George had begun to tell him 
of what had occurred at Airey Force. 
He had never thought that George Hot- 
spur would make a fitting husband for 
his daughter. But, without so thinking, 
he had allowed his mind to dwell upon 
the outside advantages of the connec- 
tion, dreaming of a fitness which he 
knew did not exist, till he had vacillated 
and the evil thing had come upon him. 
When the danger was so close upon 
him as to make him see what it was, 
to force him to feel what would be the 
misery threatened to his daughter, to 
teach him to realize his own duty, he 
condemned himself bitterly for his own 
weakness. Could any duty which he 
owed to the world be so high or so holy 
as that which was due from him to his 
child ? He almost hated his name and 
title and position as he thought of the 
evil that he had already done. Had his 
cousin George been in no close succes- 
sion to the title, would he have admitted 
a man of whom he knew so much ill, 
and of whom he had never heard any 
good, within his park palings ? And 
then he could not but acknowledge to 
himself that by asking such a one to his 
house — a man such as this young cousin 
who was known to be the heir to the 
title — he had given his daughter spe- 
cial reason to suppose that she might 
regard him as a fitting suitor for her 
hand. She of course had known — had 
felt as keenly as he had felt, for was 
she not a Hotspur ? — that she would be 
true to her family by combining her 



property and the title, and that by 
yielding to such a marriage she would 
be doing a family duty, unless there 
were reasons against it stronger than 
those connected with his name. But 
as to those other reasons, must not her 
father and her mother know better than 
she could know ? When she found that 
the man was made welcome both in 
town and country, was it not natural 
that she should suppose that there were 
no such stronger reasons ? All this Sir 
Harry felt, and blamed himself, and 
determined that though he must oppose 
his daughter and make her understand 
that the hope of such a marriage must 
be absolutely abandoned,, it would be 
his duty to be very tender with her. 
He had sinned against her already in 
that he had vacillated, and had allowed 
that handsome but vile and worthless 
cousin to come near her. 

In his conduct to his daughter, Sir 
Harry endeavored to be just and 
tender and affectionate ; but in his 
conduct to his wife on the occasion he 
allowed himself some scope for the ill- 
humor not unnaturally incident to his 
misfortune. "Why on earth you should 
have had him in Bruton street when 
you knew very well what he was, I 
cannot conceive," said Sir Harry. 

"But I didn't know," said Lady 
Elizabeth, fearing to remind her hus- 
band that he also had sanctioned the 
coming of the cousin. 

" I had told you. It was there that 
the evil was done. And then to let 
them go to that pic-nic together !" 

"What could I do when Mrs. Fitz- 
patrick asked to be taken ? You 
wouldn't have had me tell Emily that 
she should not be one of the party." 

" I would have put it off till he was 
out of the house." 

"But the Fitzpatricks were going 
too," pleaded the poor woman. 



6o 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



"It wouldn't have happened at all 
if you had not asked him to stay till the 
Monday," said Sir Harry ; and to this 
charge Lady Elizabeth knew that there 
was no answer. There she had clearly 
disobeyed her husband ; and though she 
doubtless suffered much from some dim 
idea of injustice, she was aware that as 
she had so offended she must submit to 
be told that all this evil had come from 
her wrong-doing. 

"I hope she will not be obstinate," 
said Sir Harry to his wife. Lady Eliza- 
beth, though she was not an acute 
judge of character, did know her own 
daughter, and was afraid to say that 
Emily would not be obstinate. She 
had the strongest possible respect as 
well as affection for her own child : she 
thoroughly believed in Emily — much 
more thoroughly than she did in herself. 
But she could not say that in such a 
matter Emily would not be obstinate. 
Lady Elizabeth was very intimately 
connected with two obstinate persons, 
one of whom was young and the other 
old ; and she thought that perhaps the 
younger was the more obstinate of the 
two. 

"It is quite out of the question that 
she should marry him," said Sir Harry, 
sadly. Still Lady Elizabeth made no 
reply. "I do not think that she will 
disobey me," continued Sir Harry. Still 
Lady Elizabeth said nothing. " If she 
gives me a promise, she will keep it," 
said Sir Harry. 

Then the mother could answer, " I 
am sure she will." 

" If the worst come to the worst, we 
must go away." 

"To Scarrowby ?" suggested Lady 
Elizabeth, who hated Scarrowby. 

" That would do no good. Scarrowby 
would be the same as Humblethwaite to 
her, or perhaps worse. I mean abroad. 
We must shut up the place for a couple 
of years, and take her to Naples and 
Vienna, or perhaps to Egypt. Every- 
thing must be changed to her ; that is, 
if the evil has gone deep enough." 

"Is he so very bad?" asked Lady 
Elizabeth. 

" He is a liar and a blackguard, and 



I believe him to be a swindler," said 
Sir Harry. Then Lady Elizabeth was 
mute, and her husband left her. 

At this time he had heard the whole 
story of the pawning of the commission, 
had been told something of money raised 
by worthless cheques, and had run to 
ground that lie about the Goodwood 
races. But he had not yet heard any- 
thing special of Mrs. Morton. The 
only attack on George's character which 
had as yet been made in the hearing of 
Emily had been with reference to the 
Goodwood races. Mrs. Stackpoole was 
a lady of some determination, and one 
who in society liked to show that she 
was right in her assertions and well in- 
formed on matters in dispute ; and she 
hated Cousin George. There had there- 
fore come to be a good deal said about 
the Goodwood meeting, so that the affair 
reached Sir Harry's ears. He perceived 
that Cousin George had lied, and de- 
termined that Emily should be made to 
know that her cousin had lied. But it 
was very difficult to persuade her of this. 
That everybody else should tell stories 
about George and the Goodwood meet- 
ing seemed to her to be natural enough : 
she contented herself with thinking all 
manner of evil of Mr. and Mrs. Stack- 
poole, and reiterating her conviction that 
George Hotspur had not been at the 
meeting in question. 

" I don't know that it much signifies," 
Mrs. Stackpoole had said in anger. 

"Not in the least," Emily had re- 
plied, "only that I happen to know that 
my cousin was not there. He goes to 
so many race-meetings that there has 
been some little mistake." 

Then Mr. Stackpoole had written to 
Cousin George, and Cousin George had 
thought it wise to make no reply. Sir 
Harry, however, from other sources had 
convinced himself of the truth, and had 
told his daughter that there was evi- 
dence enough to prove the fact in any 
court of law. Emily when so informed 
had simply held her tongue, and had 
resolved to hate Mrs. Stackpoole worse 
than ever. 

She had been told from the first that 
her engagement with her cousin would 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



61 



not receive her father's sanction ; and 
for some days after that there had been 
silence on the subject at Humblethwaite, 
while the correspondence with Mr. 
Boltby was being continued. Then 
there came the moment in which Sir 
Harry felt that he must call upon his 
daughter to promise obedience, and the 
conversation which has been described 
between him and Lady Elizabeth was 
preparatory to his doing so. 

"My dear," he said to his daughter, 
"sit down : I want to speak to you." 

He had sent for her into his own 
morning-room, in which she did not 
remember to have been asked to sit 
down before. She would often visit him 
there, coming in and out on all manner 
of small occasions, suggesting that he 
should ride with her, asking for the 
loan of a gardener for a week for some 
project of her own, telling him of a big 
gooseberry, interrupting him ruthlessly 
on any trifle in the world. But on such 
occasions she would stand close to him, 
leaning on him. And he would scold 
her playfully, or kiss her, or bid her 
be gone from the room, but would 
always grant what she asked of him. 
To him, though he hardly knew that it 
was so, such visits from his darling had 
been the bright moments of his life. 
But up to this morning he had never 
bade her be seated in that room. 

"Emily," he said, "I hope you un- 
derstand that all this about your cousin 
George must be given up." She made 
no reply, though he waited perhaps for 
a minute. " It is altogether out of the 
question. I am very, very sorry that 
you have been subjected to such a 
sorrow. I will own that I have been 
to blame for letting him come to my 
house." 

"No, papa, no." 

"Yes, my dear, I have been to blame, 
and I feel it keenly. I did not then 
know as much of him as I do now, but 
I had heard that which should have 
made me careful to keep him out of 
your company." 

" Hearing about people, papa ! Is 
that fair ? Are we not always hearing 
tales about everybody ? " 



"My dear child, you must take my 
word for something." 

" I will take it for everything in all 
the world, papa." 

"He has been a thoroughly bad 
young man." 

" But, papa — " 

"You must take my word for it when 
I tell you that I have positive proof of 
what I am telling you." 

"But, papa — " 

" Is not that enough ?" 

"No, papa. I am heartily sorry that 
he should have been what you call a 
bad young man. I wish young men 
weren't so bad — that there were no 
race-courses and betting, and all that. 
But if he had been my brother instead 
of my cousin — " 

" Don't talk about your brother, 
Emily." 

"Should we hate him because he has 
been unsteady ? Should we not do all 
that we could in the world to bring 
him back ? I do not know that we are 
to hate people because they do what 
they ought not to do." 

"We hate liars." 

" He is not a liar. I will not believe 
it." 

"Why did he tell you that he was 
not at those races, when he was there 
as surely as you are here ? But, my 
dear, I will not argue about all this 
with you. It is not right that I should 
do so. It is my duty to inquire into 
these things, and yours to believe me 
and to obey me." Then he paused, 
but his daughter made no reply to 
him. He looked-into her face, and saw 
there that mark about the eyes which 
he knew he so often showed himself — 
which he so well remembered in his 
father. " I suppose you do believe me, 
Emily, when I tell you that he is 
worthless." 

" He need not be worthless always." 

" His conduct has been such that he 
' is unfit to be trusted with anything." 

" He must be the head of our family 
some day, papa." 

"That is our misfortune, my dear. 
No one can feel it as I do. But I need 
not add to it the much greater mis- 



SIR BARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



fortune of sacrificing to him my only 
child." 

" If he was so bad, why did he come 
here ?" 

" That is true. I did not expect to be 
rebuked by you, Emily, but I am open 
to that rebuke." 

"Dear, dear papa, indeed I did not 
mean to rebuke you. But I cannot give 
him up." 

"You must give him up." 

" No, papa. If I did I should be false. 
I will not be false. You say that he is 
false. I do not know that, but I will 
not be false. Let me speak to you for 
one minute." 

"It is of no use." 

"But you will hear me, papa. You 
always hear me when I speak to you." 
She had left her chair now and was 
standing close to him — not leaning 
upon him, as was her wont in their 
pleasantest moments of fellowship, but 
ready to do so whenever she should 
find that his mood would permit it. 
" I will never marry him without your 
leave." 

" Thanks, Emily : I know how sacred 
is a promise from you." 

" But mine to him is equally sacred. 
I shall still be engaged to him. I told 
him how it would be. I said that as 
long as you or mamma lived I would 
never marry without your leave. Nor 
would I see him or write to him with- 
out your knowledge. I told him so. 
But I told him also that I would always 
be true to him. I mean to keep my 
word." 

" If you find him to be utterly worth- 
less, you cannot be bound by such a 
promise." 

" I hope it may not be so. I do not 
believe that it is so. I know him too 
well to think that he can be utterly 
worthless. But if he were, who should 
try to save him from worthlessness if 
not his nearest relatives ? We try to 
reclaim the worst criminals, and some- 
times we succeed. And he must be the 
head of the family. Remember that. 
Ought we not to try to reclaim him ? 
He cannot be worse than the prodigal 
son." 



"He is ten times worse. I cannot 
tell you what has been his life." 

" Papa, I have often thought that in 
our rank of life Society is responsible for 
the kind of things which young men do. 
If he was at Goodwood — which I do not 
believe — so was Mr. Stackpoole. If he 
was betting, so was Mr. Stackpoole." 

"But Mr. Stackpoole did not lie." 

"I don't know that," she said, with a 
little toss of her head. 

" Emily, you have no business eithei 
to say or to think it." 

" I care nothing for Mr. Stackpoole, 
whether he tells truth or not. He and 
his wife have made themselves very 
disagreeable : that is all. But as for 
George, he is what he is because other 
young men are allowed to be the same." 

"You do not know the half of it." 

" I know as much as I want to know, 
papa. Let one keep as clear of it as 
one can, it is impossible not to hear 
how young men live. And yet they are 
allowed to go everywhere, and are flat- 
tered and encouraged. I do not pre- 
tend that George is better than others. 
I wish he were. Oh how I wish it ! 
But, such as he is, he belongs in a way 
to us, and we ought not to desert him. 
He belongs, I know, to me, and I will 
not desert him." 

Sir Harry felt that there was no 
arguing with such a girl as this. Some 
time since he had told her that it was 
unfit that he should be brought into an 
argument with his own child, and there 
was nothing now for him but to fall back 
upon the security which that assertion 
gave him. He could not charge her 
with direct disobedience, because she 
had promised him that she would not do 
any of those things which, as a father, 
he had a right to forbid. He relied 
fully on her promise, and so far might 
feel himself to be safe. Nevertheless, 
he was very unhappy. Of what service 
would his child be to him or he to her 
if he were doomed to see her pining 
from day to day with an unpermitted 
love ? It was the dearest wish of his 
heart to make her happy, as it was his 
fondest ambition to see her so placed 
in the world that she might be the 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



63 



happy transmitter of all the honors of 
the house of Humblethwaite, if she 
could not transmit all the honors of 
the name. Time might help him. And 
then if she could be made really to see 
how base was the clay of which had 
been made this image which she be- 
lieved to be of gold, might it not be 
that at last she would hate a thing 
that was so vile ? In order that she 
might do so he would persist in finding 
out what had been the circumstances of 
this young man's life. If, as he be- 
lieved, the things which George Hot- 
spur had done were such as in another 
rank of life would send the perpetrator 
to the treadmill, surely then she would 
not cling to her lover. It would not be 
in her nature to prefer that which was 
foul and abominable and despised of 
all men. It was after this, when he 
had seen Mr. Boltby, that the idea 
occurred to him of buying up Cousin 
George, so that Cousin George should 
himself abandon his engagement. 

"You had better go now, my dear," 
he said after his last speech. " I fully 
rely upon the promise you have made 
me. I know that I can rely upon it. 
And you also may rely upon me. I 
give you my word as your father that 
this man is unfit to be your husband, 
and that I should commit a sin greater 
than I can describe to you were I to 
give my sanction to such a marriage." 

Emily made no answer to this, but 
left the room without having once 
leaned upon her father's shoulder. 

That look of hers troubled him sadly 
when he was alone. What was to be 
the meaning of it, and what the result ? 
She had given him almost unasked the 
only promise which duty required her 
to give, but at the same time she had 
assured him by her countenance, as 
well as by her words, that she would 
be as faithful to her lover as she was 
prepared to be obedient to her father. 
And then, if there should come a long 
contest of that nature, and if he should 
see her devoted year after year to a love 
which she would not even try to cast 
off from her, how would he be able to 
bear it ? He, too, was firm, but he 



knew himself to be as tender-hearted 
as he was obstinate. It would be more 
than he could bear. All the world 
would be nothing for him then. And 
if there was ever to be a question of 
yielding, it would be easier to do some- 
thing toward lessening the vileness of 
the man now than hereafter. He, too, 
had some of that knowledge of the 
world which had taught Lady Ailing- 
ham to say that the young people in 
such contests could always beat the 
old people. Thinking of this, and of 
that look upon his child's brows, he 
almost vacillated again. Any amount 
of dissipation he could now have for- 
given, but to be a liar, too, and a 
swindler ! Before he went to bed that 
night he had made up his mind to go 
to London and to see Mr. Boltby. 



CHAPTER XIV. 
PERTINACITY. 

On the day but one after the scene 
narrated in the last chapter, Sir Harry 
went to London, and Lady Elizabeth 
and Emily were left alone together in the 
great house at Humblethwaite. Emily 
loved her mother dearly. The proper 
relations of life were reversed between 
them, and the younger domineered over 
the elder. But the love which the 
daughter felt was probably the stronger 
on this account. Lady Elizabeth never 
scolded, never snubbed, never made her- 
self disagreeable, was never cross ; and 
Emily, with her strong perceptions and 
keen intelligence, knew all her mother's 
excellence, and loved it the better be- 
cause of her mother's weakness. She 
preferred her father's company, but no 
one could say she neglected her mother 
for the sake of her father. 

Hitherto she had said very little to 
Lady Elizabeth as to her lover. She 
had, in the first place, told her mother, 
and then had received from her mother, 
at second hand, her father's disapproval. 
At that time she had only said that it 
was "too late." Poor Lady Elizabeth 
had been able to make no useful answer 
to this. It certainly was too late. The 



6 4 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



evil should have been avoided by re- 
fusing admittance to Cousin George both 
in London and at Humblethwaite. It 
certainly was too late — too late, that is, 
to avoid the evil altogether. The girl 
had been asked for her heart, and had 
given it. It was very much too late. 
But evils such as that do admit of rem- 
edy. It is not every girl that can 
marry the man whom she first confesses 
that she loves. Lady Elizabeth had 
some idea that her child, being nobler 
born and of more importance than other 
people's children, ought to have been 
allowed by Fate to do so, as there cer- 
tainly is a something withdrawn from 
the delicate aroma of a first-class young 
woman by any transfer of affections ; 
but if it might not be so, even an Emily 
Hotspur must submit to a lot not uncom- 
mon among young women in general, 
and wait and wish till she could acknow- 
ledge to herself that her heart was sus- 
ceptible of another wound. That was 
the mother's hope at present — her hope, 
when she was positively told by Sir 
Harry that George Hotspur was quite 
out of the question as a husband for 
the heiress of Humblethwaite. But this 
would probably come the sooner if 
little or nothing were said of George 
Hotspur. \^~- — s. 

The reader need hardly be told that 
Emily herself regarded the matter in a 
very different light. She also had her 
ideas about the delicacy and the aroma 
of a maiden's love. She had confessed 
her love very boldly to the man who 
had asked for it — had made her rich pres- 
ent with a free hand, and had grudged 
nothing in the making of it. But having 
given it, she understood it to be fixed as 
the heavens that she could never give 
the same gift again. It was herself that 
she had given, and there was no retract- 
ing the offering. She had thought, and 
had then hoped, and had afterward 
hoped more faintly, that the present had 
been well bestowed — that in giving it 
she had disposed of herself well. Now 
they told her 'that it was not so, and 
that she could hardly have disposed of 
herself worse. She would not believe 
that; but, let it be as it might, the 



thing was done. She was his. He had 
a right in her which she could not with- 
draw from him. Was not this sort of 
giving acknowledged by all churches in 
which these words, "for better or for 
worse," were uttered as part of the mar- 
riage vow ? Here there had been as yet 
no church vow, and therefore her duty 
was still due to her father. But the 
sort of sacrifice — so often a sacrifice of 
the good to the bad — which the Church 
not only allowed, but required and sanc- 
tified, could be as well conveyed by one 
promise as by another. What is a vow 
but a promise ? and by what process are 
such vows and promises made fitting 
between a man and a woman ? Is it 
not by that compelled rendering up of 
the heart which men call love ? She 
had found that he was dearer to her 
than everything in the world besides ; 
that to be near him was a luxury to 
her ; that his voice was music to her ; 
that the flame of his eyes was sunlight ; 
that his touch was to her as had never 
been the touch of any other human 
being. She could submit to him — 
she who never would submit to any one. 
She could delight to do his bidding, 
even though it were to bring him his 
slippers. She had confessed nothing of 
this, even to herself, till he had spoken 
to her on the bridge ; but then, in a 
moment, she had known that it was so, 
and had not coyed the truth with him 
by a single nay. And now they told 
her that he was bad. 

Bad as he was, he had been good 
enough to win her. 'Twas thus she 
argued with herself. Who was she that 
she should claim for herself the right of 
having a man that was not bad ? That 
other man that had come to her, that 
Lord Alfred, was, she was told, good at 
all points, and he had not moved her 
in the least. His voice had possessed 
no music for her ; and as for fetching 
his slippers for him, he was to her one 
of those men who seem to be created 
just that they might be civil when 
wanted and then get out of the way ! 
She had not been able for a moment to 
bring herself to think of regarding him 
as her husband. But this man, this 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



65 



bad man ! From the moment that he 
had spoken to her on the bridge, she 
knew that she was his for ever. 

It might be that she liked a bad man 
best. So she argued with herself again. 
If it were so, she must put up with what 
misfortune her own taste might bring 
upon her. At any rate, the thing was 
done, and why should any man be 
thrown over simply because the world 
called him bad ? Was there to be no 
forgiveness for wrongs done between 
man and man, when the whole theory 
of our religion was made to depend on 
forgiveness from God to man ? It is 
the duty of some one to reclaim an 
evident prodigal, and why should it not 
be her duty to reclaim this prodigal ? 
Clearly, the very fact that she loved the 
prodigal would give her a potentiality 
that way which she would have with no 
other prodigal. It was at any rate her 
duty to try. It would at least be her 
duty if they would allow her to be near 
enough to him to make the attempt. 
Then she filled her mind with ideas of a 
long period of probation, in which every 
best energy of her existence should be 
given to this work of reclaiming the 
prodigal, so that at last she might put 
her own hand into one that should be 
clean enough to receive it. With such 
a task before her she could wait. She 
could watch him and give all her heart 
to his welfare, and never be impatient 
except that he might be made happy. 
As she thought of this, she told herself 
plainly that the work would not be easy 
— that there would be disappointment, 
almost heart-break, delays and sorrows ; 
but she loved him, and it would be her 
duty ; and then, if she could be suc- 
cessful, how great, how full of joy would 
be the triumph ! Even if she were to 
fail, and perish in failing, it would be 
her duty. As for giving him up be- 
cause he had the misfortune to be bad, 
she would as soon give him up on the 
score of any other misfortune — because 
he might lose a leg, or become deform- 
ed, or be stricken deaf by God's hand. 
One does not desert those one loves be- 
cause of their misfortunes. 'Twas thus 
she argued with herself, thinking that 
5 



she could see, whereas, poor child ! she 
was so very blind. 

" Mamma," she said, "has papa gone 
up to town about Cousin George ?" 

" I do not know, my dear. He did 
not say why he was going." 

" I think he has. I wish I could make 
him understand." 

"Understand what, my dear?" 

"All that I feel about it. I am 
sure it would save him much trouble. 
Nothing can ever separate me from my 
cousin." 

" Pray don't say so, Emily." 

"Nothing can. Is it not better that 
you and he should know the truth ? 
Papa goes about trying to find out all 
the naughty things that George has ever 
done. There has been some mistake 
about a race-meeting, and all manner 
of people are asked to give what papa 
calls evidence that Cousin George was 
there. I do not doubt but George has 
been what people call dissipated." 

"We do hear such dreadful stories!" 

"You would not have thought any- 
thing about them if it had not been for 
me. He is not worse now than when 
he came down here last year. And he 
was always asked to Bruton street." 

" What do you mean by this, dear ?" 

" I do not mean to say that young 
men ought to do all these things, what- 
ever they are — getting into debt, and 
betting, and living fast. Of course it is 
very wrong. But when a young man 
has been brought up in that way, I do 
think he ought not to be thrown over by 
his nearest and dearest friends" — that 
last epithet was uttered with all the 
emphasis which Emily could give to it 
— "because he falls into temptation." 

" I am afraid George has been worse 
than others, Emily." 

"So much the more reason for trying 
to save him. If a man be in the water 
you do not refuse to throw him a rope 
because the water is deep." 

" But, dearest, your papa is thinking 
of you." Lady Elizabeth was not quick 
enough of thought to explain to her 
daughter that if the rope be of more 
value than the man, and if the chance 
of losing the rope be much greater than 



66 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



that of saving the man, then the rope is 
not thrown. 

"And I am thinking of George," said 
Emily. 

"But if it should appear that he had 
done things — the wickedest things in 
the world?" 

" I might break my heart in thinking 
of it, but I should never give him up." 

"If he were a murderer?" suggested 
Lady Elizabeth, with horror. 

The girl paused, feeling herself to be 
hardly pressed, and then came that look 
upon her brow which Lady Elizabeth 
understood as well as did Sir Harry. 
"Then I would be a murderer's wife," 
she said. 

"Oh, Emily!" 

"I must make you understand me, 
mamma, and I want papa to understand 
it too. No consideration on earth shall 
make me say that I will give him up. 
They may prove, if they please, that he 
was on all the race-courses in the world, 
and get that Mrs. Stackpoole to swear 
to it — and it is ten times worse for a 
woman to go than it is for a man, at 
any rate — but it will make no differ- 
ence. If you and papa tell me not to 
see him or write to him — much less to 
marry him — of course I shall obey you. 
But I shall not give him up a bit the 
more, and he must not be told that I 
will give him up. I am sure papa will 
not wish that anything untrue should 
be told. George will always be to me 
the dearest thing in the whole world — 
dearer than my own soul. I shall pray 
for him every night, and think of him 
all day long. And as to the property, 
papa may be quite sure that he can 
never arrange it by any marriage that I 
shall make. No man shall ever speak 
to me in that way if I can help it. I 
won't go where any man can speak to 
me. I will obey, but it will be at the 
cost of my life. Of course I will obey 
papa and you, but I cannot alter my 
heart. Why was he allowed to come 
here — the head of our own family — if 
he be so bad as this ? Bad or good, he 
will always be all the world to me." 

To such a daughter as this Lady 
Elizabeth had very little to say that 



might be of avail. She could quote 
Sir Harry, and entertain some dim dis- 
tant wish that Cousin George might 
even yet be found to be not quite so 
black as he had been painted. 



CHAPTER XV. 
COUSIN GEORGE IS HARD PRESSED. 

The very sensible, and, as one would 
have thought, very manifest idea of 
buying up Cousin George originated 
with Mr. Boltby. "He will have his 
price, Sir Harry," said the lawyer. Then 
Sir Harry's eyes were opened, and so 
excellent did this mode of escape seem 
to him that he was ready to pay almost 
any price for the article. He saw it at 
a glance. Emily had high-flown no- 
tions and would not yield : he feared 
that she would not yield, let Cousin 
George's delinquencies be shown to be 
as black as Styx. But if Cousin George 
could be made to give her up, then 
Emily must yield ; and, yielding in 
such a manner, having received so rude 
a proof of her lover's unworthiness, it 
could not be but that her heart would 
be changed. Sir Harry's first idea of a 
price was very noble — all debts to be 
paid, a thousand a year for the present, 
and Scarrowby to be attached to the 
title. What price would be too high to 
pay for the extrication of his daughter 
from so grievous a misfortune ? But 
Mr. Boltby was more calm. As to the 
payment of the debts, yes — within a 
certain liberal limit. For the present, 
an income of five hundred pounds he 
thought would be almost as efficacious 
a bait as double the amount; and it 
would be well to tack to it the necessity 
of a residence abroad. It might, per- 
haps, serve to get the young man out of 
the country for a time. If the young 
man bargained on either of these head- 
ings, the matter could be reconsidered 
by Mr. Boltby. As to settling Scarrow- 
by on the title, Mr. Boltby was clear- 
ly against it. " He would raise every 
shilling he could on post-obits within 
twelve months." At last the offer was 
made in the terms with which the reader 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



6 1 



is already acquainted. George was sent 
off from the lawyer's chambers with 
directions to consider the terms, and 
Mr. Boltby gave his clerk some little 
instructions for perpetuating the irrita- 
tion on the young man which Hart and 
Stubber together were able to produce. 
The young man should be made to un- 
derstand that hungry creditors, who had 
been promised their money on certain 
conditions, could become very hungry 
indeed. 

George Hotspur, blackguard and 
worthless as he was, did not at first 
realize the fact that Sir Harry and Mr. 
Boltby were endeavoring to buy him. 
He was asked to give up his cousin, 
and he was told that if he did so a 
certain very generous amount of pecu- 
niary assistance should be given to 
him ; but yet he did not at the first 
glance perceive that one was to be the 
price of the other — that if he took the 
one he would meanly have sold the 
other. It certainly would have been 
very pleasant to have all his debts paid 
for him, and the offer of five hundred 
pounds a year was very comfortable. 
Of the additional sum to be given when 
Sir Harry should die, he did not think 
so much. It might probably be a long 
time coming, and then Sir Harry would 
of course be bound to do something for 
the title. As for living abroad, he 
might promise that, but they could not 
make him keep his promise. He would 
not dislike to travel for six months, 
on condition that he should be well 
provided with ready money. There was 
much that was alluring in the offer, and 
he began to think whether he could not 
get it all without actually abandoning 
his cousin. But then he was to give a 
written pledge to that effect, which, if 
given, no doubt would be shown to her. 
No : that would not do. Emily was 
his prize ; and though he did not value 
her at her worth, not understanding 
such worth, still he had an idea that 
she would be true to him. Then at 
last came upon him an understanding 
of the fact, and he perceived that a 
bribe had been offered to him. 

For half a day he was so disgusted at 



the idea that his virtue was rampant 
within him. Sell his Emily for money ! 
Never! His Emily and all her rich 
prospects, and that for a sum so inade- 
quate ! They little knew their man 
when they made a proposition so vile ! 
That evening, at his club, he wrote a 
letter to Sir Harry, and the letter as 
soon as written was put into the club 
letter-box, addressed to the house in 
Bruton street; in which, with much 
indignant eloquence, he declared that 
the baronet little understood the warmth 
of his love or the extent of his ambi- 
tion in regard to the family. " I shall 
be quite ready to submit to any settle- 
ments," he said, "so long as the property 
is entailed upon the baronet who shall 
come after myself: I need not say that 
I hope the happy fellow may be my 
own son." 

But on the next morning, on his first 
waking, his ideas were more vague, and 
a circumstance happened which tended 
to divert them from the current in 
which they had run on the preceding 
evening. When he was going through 
the sad work of dressing he bethought 
himself that he could not at once force 
this marriage on Sir Harry — could not 
do so, perhaps, within a twelvemonth 
or more, let Emily be ever so true to 
him — and that his mode of living had 
become so precarious as to be almost 
incompatible with that outward decency 
which would be necessary for him as 
Emily's suitor. He was still very in- 
dignant at the offer made to him, which 
was indeed bribery of which Sir Harry 
ought to be ashamed, but he almost 
regretted that his letter to Sir Harry 
had been sent. It had not been con- 
sidered enough, and certainly should 
not have been written simply on after- 
dinner consideration. Something might 
have been inserted with the view of pro- 
ducing ready money — something which 
might have had a flavor of yielding, but 
which could not have been shown to 
Emily as an offer on his part to abandon 
her ; and then he had a general feeling 
that his letter had been too grandilo- 
quent — all arising, no doubt, from a fall 
in courage incidental to a sick stomach. 



68 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



But before he could get out of his 
hotel a visitor was upon him. Mr. Hart 
desired to see him. At this moment 
he would almost have preferred to see 
Captain Stubber. He remembered at 
the moment that Mr. Hart was ac- 
quainted with Mr. Walker, and that Mr. 
Walker would probably have sought 
the society of Mr. Hart after a late oc- 
currence in which he, Cousin George, 
had taken part. He was going across 
to breakfast at his club when he found 
himself almost forced to accompany Mr. 
Hart into a little private room at the left 
hand of the hall of the hotel. He want- 
ed his breakfast badly, and was alto- 
gether out of humor. He had usually 
found Mr. Hart to be an enduring man, 
not irascible, though very pertinacious, 
and sometimes almost good-natured. 
In a moment he thought he would bully 
Mr. Hart, but when he looked into Mr. 
Hart's face his heart misgave him. 
"This is a most inconvenient time — " 
he had begun. But he hesitated, and 
Mr. Hart began his attack at once : 

" Captain 'Oshspur, sir ! let me tell 
you this von't do no longer." 

"What won't do, Mr. Hart?" 

" Vat von't do ? You know vat von't 
do. Let me tell you this. You'll be at 
the Old Bailey very soon if you don't 
do just vat you is told to do." 

" Me at the Old Bailey ?" 

"Yes, Captain 'Oshspur — you at the 
Old Bailey. In vat vay did you get 
those moneys from poor Mr. Valker ? I 
know vat I says. More than three hun- 
dred pounds ! It was card-sharping." 

" Who says it was card-sharping ?" 

" I say so, Captain 'Oshspur, and so 
does Mr. Bullbean. Mr. Bullbean vill 
prove it." Mr. Bullbean was a gentle- 
man known well to Mr. Hart, who had 
made one of a little party at Mr. Walk- 
er's establishment, by means of which 
Cousin George had gone, flush of money, 
down among his distinguished friends 
in Norfolk. "Vat did you do with poor 
Valker's moneys ? It vas very hard 
upon poor Mr. Valker — very hard." 

" It was fair play, Mr. Hart." 

" Gammon, Captain 'Oshspur ! Vhere 
is the moneys ?" 



"What business is that of yours?" 

"Oh, very well. Bullbean is quite 
ready to go before a magistrate — ready 
at once. I don't know how that vill 
help us with our pretty cousin with all 
the fortune." 

" How will it help you then ?" 

" Look here, Captain 'Oshspur : I vill 
tell you vat vill help me, and vill help 
Captain Stubber, and vill help every- 
body. The young lady isn't for you at 
all. I know all about it, Captain 'Osh- 
spur. Mr. Boltby is a very nice gentle- 
man, and understands business." 

"What is Mr. Boltby to me ?" 

" He is a great deal to me, because 
he vill pay me my moneys, and he vill 
pay Captain Stubber, and vill pay every- 
body. He vill pay you too, Captain 
'Oshspur — only you must pay poor 
Valker his moneys. I have promised 
Valker he shall have back his moneys, 
or Sir Harry shall know that too. You 
must just give up the young woman : 
eh, Captain 'Oshspur?" 

" I'm not going to be dictated to, Mr. 
Hart." 

"When gentlemans is in debt they 
must be dictated to, or else be quodded. 
We mean to have our money from Mr. 
Boltby, and that at once. Here is the 
offer to pay it, every shilling, and to 
pay you ! You must give the lady 
up. You must go to Mr. Boltby and 
write just what he tells you. If you 
don't— !" 

"Well, if I don't?" 

"By the living God, before tw^o weeks 
are over you shall be in prison. Bull- 
bean saw it all. Now you know, Captain 
'Oshspur. You don't like dictating to, 
don't you ? If you don't do as you're 
dictated to, and that mighty sharp, as 
sure as my name is Abraham Hart, ev- 
erything shall come out. Every d d 

thing, Captain 'Oshspur ! And now 
good-morning, Captain 'Oshspur. You 
had better see Mr. Boltby to-day, Cap- 
tain 'Oshspur." 

How was a man so weighted to run 
for such stakes as those he was striving 
to carry off? When Mr. Hart left him 
he was not only sick in the stomach, 
but sick at heart also — sick all over. 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



69 



He had gone from bad to worse ; he had 
lost the knowledge of the flavor of 
vice and virtue ; and yet now, when 
there was present to him the vanishing 
possibility of redeeming everything by 
this great marriage, it seemed to him 
that a life of honorable ease — such a 
life as Sir Harry would wish him to live 
if permitted to marry the girl and dwell 
among his friends at Humblethwaite — 
-.vould be much sweeter, much more to 
his real taste, than the life which he 
had led for the last ten years. What 
had been his positive delights ? In what 
moments had he actually enjoyed them ? 
From first to last had there not been 
trouble and danger and vexation of 
spirit, and a savor of dirt about it all 
which even to his palate had been 
nauseous ? Would he not willingly re- 
form ? And yet, when the prospect of 
reform was brought within reach of his 
eyes — of a reform so pleasant in all its 
accompaniments, of reform amidst all 
the wealth of Humblethwaite, with 
Emily Hotspur by his side — there came 
these harpies down upon him, rendering 
it all impossible ! Thrice, in speaking 
of them to himself, he called them har- 
pies, but it never occurred to him to 
think by what name Mr. Walker would 
have designated him. 

But things around him were becoming 
so serious that he must do something. 
It might be that he would fall to the 
ground, losing everything. He could 
not understand about Bullbean. Bull- 
bean had had his share of the plun- 
der in regard to all that he had seen. 
The best part of the evening's enter- 
tainment had taken place after Mr. 
Bullbean had retired. No doubt, how- 
ever, Mr. Bullbean might do him a 
damage. <>V__. 

He had written to Sir Harry, refusing 
altogether the offer made to him. Could 
he, after writing such a letter, at once 
go to the lawyer and accept the offer ? 
And must he admit to himself, finally, 
that it was altogether beyond his power 
to win his cousin's hand ? Was there 
no hope of that life at Humblethwaite 
which, when contemplated at a distance, 
had seemed to him to be so green and 



pleasant ? And what would Emily think 
of him ? In the midst of all his other 
miseries that also was a misery. He was 
able, though steeped in worthlessness, 
so to make for himself a double identity 
as to imagine and to personify a being 
who should really possess fine and manly 
aspirations with regard to a woman, and 
to look upon himself— his second self— 
as that being ; and to perceive with how 
withering a contempt such a being would 
contemplate such another man as was in 
truth the real George Hotspur, whose 
actual sorrows and troubles had now 
become so unendurable. 

Who would help him in his distress ? 
The Allinghams were still in Scotland, 
and he knew well that, though Lady 
Allingham was fond of him, and 
though Lord Allingham liked him, 
there was no assistance to be had there 
of the kind that he needed. His dearly 
intimate, distinguished friends in Nor- 
folk, with whom he had been always 
George, would not care if they heard 
that he had been crucified. It seemed 
to him that the world was very hard 
and very cruel. Who did care for him ? 
There were two women who cared for 
him, who really loved him, who would 
make almost any sacrifice for him, who 
would even forget his sins, or at least 
forgive them. He was sure of that. 
Emily Hotspur loved him, but there 
were no means by which he could reach 
Emily Hotspur. She loved him, but she 
would not so far disobey her father and 
mother, or depart from her own word, 
as to receive even a letter from him. 
But the other friend who loved him — he 
still could see her. He knew well the 
time at which he would find her at home, 
and some three or four hours after his 
interview with Mr. Hart he knocked at 
Mrs. Morton's door. 

"Well, George," she said, "how does 
your wooing thrive ?" 

He had no preconceived plan in 
coming to her. He was possessed by 
that desire which we all of us so often 
feel, to be comforted by sympathy ; but 
he hardly knew even how to describe 
the want of it. 

"It does not thrive at all," he said, 



7o 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



throwing himself gloomily into an easy- 
chair. 

"That is bad news. Has the lady 
turned against you ?" 

"Oh no," said he, moodily — "nothing 
of that sort." 

"That would be impossible, would it 
not ? Fathers are stern, but to such a 
one as you daughters are always kind. 
That is what you mean ; eh, George ?" 

" I wish you would not chaff me, Lucy. 
I am not well, and I did not come to be 
chaffed." 

" The chaffing is all to be on one side, 
is it, George ? Well, I will say nothing 
to add to your discomforts. What is it 
ails you ? You will drink liqueurs after 
dinner. That is what makes you so 
wretched. And I believe you drink 
them before dinner, too." 

" Hardly ever. I don't do such a 
thing three times in a month. It is not 
that; but things do trouble me so." 

" I suppose Sir Harry is not well 
pleased." 

" He is doing what he ought not to 
do, I must say that — quite what I call 
ungentlemanlike. A lawyer should nev- 
er be allowed to interfere between gen- 
tlemen. I wonder who could stand it 
if an attorney were set to work to make 
all manner of inquiries about every- 
thing that he had ever done ?" 

" I could not, certainly. I should 
cave in at once, as the boys say." 

" Other men have been as bad as I 
have, I suppose. He is sending about 
everywhere." 

" Not only sending, George, but go- 
ing himself. Do you know that Sir 
Harry did me the honor of visiting 
me?" 

"No!" 

"But he did. He sat there in that 
very chair, and talked to me in a man- 
ner that nobody ever did before, cer- 
tainly. What a fine old man he is, and 
how handsome !" 

"Yes, he is a good-looking old fellow." 

"So like you, George." 

"Is he?" 

"Only you know, less — less — less — 
what shall I say ? — less good-natured, 
perhaps." 



" I know what you mean. He is not 
such a fool as I am." 

"You're not a fool at all, George, but 
sometimes you are weak. He looks to 
be strong. Is she like him ?" 

"Very like him." 

"Then she must be handsome." 

" Handsome ! I should think she is, 
too!" said George, quite forgetting the 
description of his cousin which he had 
given some days previously to Mrs. 
Morton. 

She smiled, but took no notice aloud 
of his blunder. She knew him so well 
that she understood it all. "Yes," she 
went on, "he came here and said some 
bitter things. He said more, perhaps, 
than he ought to have done." 

"About me, Lucy ?" 

" I think that he spoke chiefly about 
myself. There was a little explanation, 
and then he behaved very well. I have 
no quarrel with him myself. He is a 
fine old gentleman ; and having one 
only daughter and a large fortune, I 
do not wonder that he should want to 
make inquiries before he gives her to 
you." 

"He could do that without an at- 
torney." 

" Would you tell him the truth ? The 
fact is, George, that you are not the sort 
of son-in-law that fathers like. I sup- 
pose it will be off; eh, George ?" George 
made no immediate reply. " It is not 
likely that she would have the con- 
stancy to stick to it for years, and I am 
sure you will not. Has he offered you 
money ?" Then George told her al- 
most with accuracy the nature of the 
proposition made to him. 

"It is very generous," she said. 

" I don't see much of that." 

" It certainly is very generous." 

"What ought a fellow to do ?" 

"Only fancy that you should come to 
me to ask me such a question !" 

" I know you will tell me true." 

"Do you love her?" 

"Yes." 

"With all your heart?" 

" What is the meaning of that ? I do 
love her." 

" Better than her father's money ?" 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



"Much better." 

"Then stick to her through thick and 
thin. But you don't. I must not advise 
you in accordance with what you say, 
but with what I think. You will be 
beaten, certainly. She will never be 
your wife ; and were you so married, 
you would not be happy with such peo- 
ple. But she will never be your wife. 
Take Sir Harry's offer, and write her 



a letter explaining how it is best for all 
that you should do so." 

He paused a moment, and then he 
asked her one other question : " Would 
you write the letter for me, Lucy ?" 

She smiled again as she answered 
him : "Yes : if you make up your mind 
to do as Sir Harry asks you, I will write 
a draft of what I think you should say 
to her." 










7 2 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



PART VI. 



CHAPTER XVI. 
SIR HARRY'S RETURN. 

SIR HARRY received the grandly- 
worded and indignant letter which 
had been written at the club, and Cou- 
sin George hesitated as to that other 
letter which his friend was to dictate for 
him. Consequently it became neces- 
sary that Sir Harry should leave Lon- 
don before the matter was settled. In 
truth, the old baronet liked the grandly- 
worded and indignant letter. It was 
almost such a letter as a Hotspur should 
write on such an occasion. There was 
an admission of pecuniary weakness 
which did not quite become a Hotspur, 
but otherwise the letter was a good let- 
ter. Before he left London he took the 
letter with him to Mr. Boltby, and on 
his way thither could not refrain from 
counting up all the good things which 
would befall him and his if only this 
young man might be reclaimed and re- 
cast in a mould such as should fit the 
heir of the Hotspurs. He had been 
very bad — so bad that when Sir Harry 
counted up his sins they seemed to be 
as black as night. And then, as he 
thought of them, the father would de- 
clare to himself that he would not im- 
peril his daughter by trusting her to 
one who had shown himself to be so 
evil. But again another mode of look- 
ing at it all would come upon him. The 
kind of vice of which George had been 
undoubtedly guilty was very distasteful 
to Sir Harry : it had been ignoble and 
ungentlemanlike vice. He had been a 
liar, and not only a gambler, but a pro- 
fessional gambler. He had not simply 
got into debt, but he had got into debt 
in a fashion that was fraudulent ; so at 
least Sir Harry thought. And yet need 
it be said that this reprobate was beyond 
the reach of all forgiveness ? Had not 
men before him done as bad, and yet 



were brought back within tne pale of 
decent life ? In this still vacillating 
mood of mind Sir Harry reached his 
lawyer's. Mr. Boltby did not vacillate 
at all. When he was shown the letter 
he merely smiled. 

" I don't think it is a bad letter," said 
Sir Harry. 

"Words mean so little, Sir Harry," 
said Mr. Boltby, "and come so cheap." 

Sir Harry turned the letter over in his 
hand and frowned : he did not quite 
like to be told even by his confidential 
lawyer that he was mistaken. Uncon- 
sciously he was telling himself that after 
all George Hotspur had been born a 
gentleman, and that therefore under- 
lying all the young man's vileness and 
villainy there must be a substratum of 
noble soil of which the lawyer perhaps 
knew nothing. Mr. Boltby saw that his 
client was doubting, and having given 
much trouble to the matter, and not be- 
ing afraid of Sir Harry, he determined 
to speak his mind freely. 

"Sir Harry," he said, "in this matter 
I must tell you what I really think." 

"Certainly." 

" I am sorry to have to speak ill of 
one bearing your name, and were not 
the matter urgent as it is, I should prob- 
ably repress something of my opinion. 
As it is, I do not dare to do so. You 
could not in all London find a man less 
fit to be the husband of Miss Hotspur 
than her cousin." 

"He is a gentleman — by birth," said 
Sir Harry. 

" He is an unprincipled blackguard 
by education, and the more blackguard 
because of his birth : there is nothing 
too bad for him to do, and very little so 
bad but what he has done it. He is a 
gambler, a swindler, and, as I believe, 
a forger and a card-sharper. He has 
lived upon the wages of the woman he 
has professed to love. He has shown 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



73 



himself to be utterly spiritless, abomi- 
nable and vile. If my clerk in the 
next room were to slap his face, I do 
not believe that he would resent it." 
Sir Harry frowned and moved his feet 
rapidly on the floor. " In my thorough 
respect and regard for you, Sir Harry," 
continued Mr. Boltby, " I have under- 
taken a work which I would not have 
done for above two or three other men in 
the world besides yourself. I am bound 
to tell you the result, which is this — 
that I would sooner give my own girl 
to the sweeper at the crossing than to 
George Hotspur." 

Sir Harry's brow was very black. 
Perhaps he had not quite known his 
lawyer. Perhaps it was that he had 
less power of endurance than he had 
himself thought in regard to the men- 
tion of his own family affairs. "Of 
course," he said, " I am greatly indebted 
to you, Mr. Boltby, for the trouble you 
have taken." 

"I only hope it may be of service to 
you." 

" It has been of service. What may 
be the result in regard to this unfortu- 
nate young man, I cannot yet say. He 
has refused our offer — I must say as I 
think — honorably." 

" It means nothing." 

"How nothing, Mr. Boltby?" 

"No man accepts such a bargain at 
first. He is playing his hand against 
yours, Sir Harry, and he knows that he 
has got a very good card in his own. 
It was not to be supposed that he would 
give in at once. In besieging a town 
the surest way is to starve the garrison. 
Wait a while and he will give in. When 
a town has within its walls such vul- 
tures as will now settle upon him, it 
cannot stand out very long. I shall 
hear more of him before many days are 
over." 

"You think, then, that I may return 
to Humblethwaite." 

" Certainly, Sir Harry ; but I hope, 
Sir Harry, that you will return with the 
settled conviction on your mind that 
this young man must not on any con- 
sideration be allowed to enter your 
family." 



The lawyer meant well, but he over- 
did his work. Sir Harry got up and 
shook hands with him and thanked 
him, but left the room with some sense 
of offence. He had come to Mr. Boltby 
for information, and he had received it. 
But he was not quite sure that he had 
intended that Mr. Boltby should advise 
him touching his management of his 
own daughter. Mr. Boltby, he thought, 
had gone a little beyond his tether. 
Sir Harry acknowledged to himself that 
he had learned a great deal about his 
cousin, and it was for him to judge after 
that whether he would receive his cousin 
at Humblethwaite. Mr. Boltby should 
not have spoken about the crossing 
sweeper. And then Sir Harry was not 
quite sure that he liked that idea of 
setting vultures upon a man, and Sir 
Harry remembered something of his old 
lore as a hunting man. It is astonish- 
ing what blood will do in bringing a 
horse through mud at the end of a long 
day. Mr. Boltby probably did not un- 
derstand how much, at the very last, 
might be expected from breeding. When 
Sir Harry left Mr. Boltby's chambers he 
was almost better-minded toward Cousin 
George than he had been when he en- 
tered them; and in this frame of mind, 
both for and against the young man, he 
returned to Humblethwaite. It must 
not be supposed, however, that as the 
result of the whole he was prepared to 
yield. He knew, beyond all doubt, that 
his cousin was thoroughly a bad subject 
— a worthless, and, as he believed, an 
irredeemable scamp ; but yet he thought 
of what might happen if he were to 
yield ! 

Things were very sombre when he 
reached Humblethwaite. Of course his 
wife could not refrain from questions. 

" It is very bad," he said — "as bad as 
can be." 

" He has gambled ?" 

"Gambled! If that were all! You 
had better not ask about it: he is a 
disgrace to the family." 

" Then there can be no hope for 
Emily ?" 

" No hope ! Why should there not 
be hope ? All her life need not depend 



74 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



on her fancy for a man of whom, after 
all, she has not seen so very much. She 
must get over it. Other girls have had 
to do the same." 

"She is not like other girls, Harry." 

" How not like them ?" 

" I think she is more persistent : she 
has set her heart upon loving this young 
man, and she will love him." 

"Then she must." 

" She will break her heart," said Lady 
Elizabeth. 

"She will break mine, I know," said 
Sir Harry. 

When he met his daughter he had 
embraced her, and she had kissed him 
and asked after his welfare ; but he felt 
at once that she was different from what 
she used to be — different not only as 
regarded herself, but different also in 
her manner. There came upon him a 
sad, ponderous conviction that the sun- 
light had gone out from their joint lives, 
that all pleasant things were over for 
both of them, and that as for him it 
would be well for him that he should 
die. He could not be happy if there 
were discord between him and his child ; 
and there must be discord. The man 
had been invited with a price to take 
himself off, and had not been sufficiently 
ignoble to accept the offer. How could 
he avoid the discord, and bring back 
the warmth of the sun into his house ? 
Then he remembered those terribly 
forcible epithets which Mr. Boltby had 
spoken. " He is an unprincipled black- 
guard ; and the worse blackguard be- 
cause of his birth." The words had 
made Sir Harry angry, but he believed 
them to be true. If there were to be 
any yielding he would not yield as yet ; 
but that living in his house without 
sunshine was very grievous to him. 
" She will kill me," he said to himself, 
"if she goes on like this." 

And yet it was hard to say of what it 
was that he complained. Days went 
by, and his daughter said nothing and 
did nothing of which he could complain. 
It was simply this — that the sunshine 
was no longer bright within his halls. 
Days went by, and George Hotspur's 
name had never been spoken by Emily 



in the hearing of her father or mother. 
Such duties as there were for her to do 
were done. The active duties of a girl 
in her position are very few. It was 
her custom of a morning to spread butter 
on a bit of toast for her father to eat. 
This she still did, and brought it to him 
as was her wont, but she did not bring 
it with her old manner. It was a thing 
still done — simply because not to do it 
would be an omission to be remarked. 
"Never mind it," said her father the 
fourth or fifth morning after his return, 
"I'd sooner do it for myself." She did 
not say a word, but on the next morn- 
ing the little ceremony, which had once 
been so full of pleasant affection, was 
discontinued. She had certain hours 
of reading, and these were prolonged 
rather than abandoned. But both her 
father and mother perceived that her 
books were changed ; her Italian was 
given up, and she took to works of relig- 
ion — sermons, treatises and long com- 
mentaries. 

"It will kill me," said Sir Harry to 
his wife. 

"I am afraid it will kill her," said 
Lady Elizabeth. " Do you see how her 
color has gone, and she eats so little !" 

"She walks every day." 

"Yes, and comes in so tired. And 
she goes to church every Wednesday 
and Friday at Hesket. I'm sure she is 
not fit for it in such weather as this." 

"She has the carriage." 

"No, she walks." 

Then Sir Harry gave orders that his 
daughter should always have the car- 
riage on Wednesdays and Fridays. But 
Emily, when her mother told her this, 
insisted that she would sooner walk. 

But what did the carriage or no car- 
riage on Wednesday signify ? The trouble 
was deeper than that. It was so deep 
that both father and mother felt that 
something must be done or the trouble 
would become too heavy for their backs. 
Ten days passed, and nothing was heard 
either from Mr. Boltby or from Cousin 
George. Sir Harry hardly knew what 
it was that he expected to hear, but it 
seemed that he did expect something. 
He was nervous at the hour of post, and 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



75 



was aware himself that he was existing 
on from day to day with the idea of 
soon doing some special thing — he 
knew not what, but something that 
might put an end to the frightful con- 
dition of estrangement between him and 
his child in which he was now living. 
It told even upon his duty among his 
tenants. It told upon his farm. It told 
upon almost every workman in the par- 
ish. He had no heart for doing anything. 
It did not seem certain to him that he 
could continue to live in his own house. 
He could not bring himself to order that 
this wood should be cut or that those 
projected cottages should be built. 
Everything was at a standstill ; and it 
was clear to him that Emily knew that 
all this had come from her rash love 
for her cousin George. She never now 
came and stood at his elbow in his own 
room or leaned upon his shoulder : 
she never now asked him questions, or 
brought him out from his papers to 
decide questions in the garden, or 
rather to allow himself to be ruled by 
her decisions. There were greetings be- 
tween them morning and evening, and 
questions were asked and answered 
formally, but there was no conversation. 

"What have I done that I should be 
punished in this way ?" said Sir Harry 
to himself. 

If he was prompt to think himself 
hardly used, so also was his daughter. 
In considering the matter in her own 
mind, she had found it to be her duty 
to obey her father in her outward con- 
duct, founding her convictions in this 
matter upon precedent and upon the 
general convictions of the world. In 
the matter of bestowing herself upon 
a suitor a girl is held to be subject to 
her parents. So much she knew, or 
believed that she knew, and therefore 
she would obey. She had read and 
heard of girls who would correspond 
with their lovers clandestinely, would 
run away with their lovers, would marry 
their lovers as it were behind their 
fathers' backs. No act of this kind 
would she do. She had something 
within her which would make it dread- 
ful to her ever to have to admit that 



she had been personally wrong — some 
mixture of pride and principle which 
was strong enough to keep her steadfast 
in her promised obedience. She would 
do nothing that could be thrown in 
her teeth, nothing that could be called 
unfeminine, indelicate or undutiful. But 
she had high ideas of what was due 
to herself, and conceived that she 
would be wronged by her father should 
her father take advantage of her sense 
of duty to crush her heart. She had 
her own rights and her own privileges, 
with which grievous and cruel inter- 
ference would be made should her 
father, because he was her father, rob 
her of the only thing which was sweet 
to her taste or desirable in her esteem. 
Because she was his heiress he had no 
right to make her his slave. But even 
should he do so, she had in her own 
hands a certain security. The bondage 
of a slave no doubt he might allot to 
her, but not the task-work. Because 
she would cling to her duty and keep 
the promise which she had made to 
him, it would be in his power to pre- 
vent the marriage upon which she had 
set her heart ; but it was not within 
his power or within his privilege as 
a father to force upon her any other 
marriage. She would never help him 
with her hand in that adjustment of 
his property of which he thought so 
much, unless he would help her in her 
love. And in the mean time sunshine 
should be banished from the house — 
such sunshine as had shone round her 
head. She did not so esteem herself 
as to suppose that because she was 
sad therefore her father and mother 
would be wretched, but she did feel 
herself bound to contribute to the 
house in general all the wretchedness 
which might come from her own want 
of sunlight. She suffered under a 
terrible feeling of ill-usage. Why was 
she, because she was a girl and an 
heiress, to be debarred from her own 
happiness? If she were willing to 
risk herself, why should others inter- 
fere ? And if the life and conduct of 
her cousin were in truth so bad as 
they were represented — which she did 



7 6 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



not in the least believe — why had he 
been allowed to come within her reach ? 
It was not only that he was young, 
clever, handsome and in every way 
attractive, but that, in addition to all 
this, he was a Hotspur and would 
some day be the head of the Hotspurs. 
Her father had known well enough 
that her family pride was equal to his 
own. Was it not natural that when a 
man so endowed had come in her way, 
she should learn to love him ? And 
when she had loved him, was it not 
right that she should cling to her love ? 

Her father would fain treat her like 
a beast of burden kept in the stables 
for a purpose, or like a dog, whose 
obedience and affections might be trans- 
ferred from one master to another for 
a price. She would obey her father, 
but her father should be made to under- 
stand that hers was not the nature of 
a beast of burden or of a dog. She 
was a Hotspur as thoroughly as was 
he. And then they brought men there 
to her, selected suitors, whom she de- 
spised. What did they think of her 
when imagining that she would take 
a husband not of her own choosing? 
What must be their idea of love, and 
of marriage duty, and of that close 
intercourse of man and wife ? To her 
feeling a woman should not marry at 
all unless she could so love a man as 
to acknowledge to herself that she was 
imperatively required to sacrifice all that 
belonged to her for his welfare and 
good. Such was her love for George 
Hotspur, let him be what he might. 
They told her that he was bad and that 
he would drag her into the mud. She 
was willing to be dragged into the 
mud, or, at any rate, to make her own 
struggle during the dragging as to 
whether he should drag her in or she 
should drag him out. 

And then they brought men to her, 
walking-sticks — Lord Alfred and young 
Mr. Thoresby — and insulted her by 
supposing of her that she would marry 
a man simply because he was brought 
there as a fitting husband. She would 
be dutiful and obedient as a daughter, 
according to her idea of duty and of 



principle, but she would let them know 
that she had an identity of her own, 
and that she was not to be moulded 
like a piece of clay. 

No doubt she was hard upon her 
father. No doubt she was in very 
truth disobedient and disrespectful. It 
was not that she should have married 
any Lord Alfred that was brought to her, 
but that she should have struggled to 
accommodate her spirit to her father's 
spirit. But she was a Hotspur, and 
though she could be generous, she could 
not yield. And then the hold of a 
child upon the father is so much 
stronger than that of the father on 
the child ! Our eyes are set in our 
face, and are always turned forward. 
The glances that we cast back are but 
occasional. 

And so the sunshine was banished 
from the house of Humblethwaite, and 
the days were as black as the night. 



CHAPTER XVII. 
"LET US TRY." 

Things went on thus at Humble- 
thwaite for three weeks, and Sir Harry 
began to feel that he could endure it no 
longer. He had expected to have heard 
again from Mr. Boltby, but no letter 
had come. Mr. Boltby had suggested 
to him something of starving out the 
town, and he had expected to be in- 
formed before this whether the town 
were starved out or not. He had re- 
ceived an indignant and grandiloquent 
letter from his cousin, of which as yet 
he had taken no notice. He had taken 
no notice of the letter, although it had 
been written to decline a proposal of 
very great moment made by himself. 
He felt that in these circumstances Mr. 
Boltby ought to have written to him. 
He ought to have been told what was 
being done. And yet he had left Mr. 
Boltby with a feeling which made it' 
distasteful to him to ask further ques- 
tions from the lawyer on the subject. 
Altogether, his position was one as 
disagreeable and painful as it well 
could be. 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



77 



But at last, in regard to his own 
private life with his daughter, he could 
bear it no longer. The tenderness of 
his heart was too much for his pride, 
and he broke down in his resolution to 
be stern and silent with her till all this 
should have passed by them. She was 
so much more to him than he was to 
her. She was his all in all, whereas 
Cousin George was hers. He was the 
happier, at any rate, in this, that he 
would never be forced to despise where 
he loved. 

" Emily," he said to her at last, "why 
is it that you are so changed to me ?" 

"Papa!" 

"Are you not changed ? Do you not 
know that everything about the house 
is changed ?" 

"Yes, papa." 

"And why is it so ? I do not keep 
away from you. You used to come to 
me every day. You never come near 
me now." 

She hesitated for a moment with her 
eyes turned to the ground, and then as 
she answered him she looked him full 
in the face : " It is because I am always 
thinking of my cousin George." 

" But why should that keep us apart, 
Emily ? I wish that it were not so, 
but why should that keep us apart ?" 

"Because you are thinking of him 
too, and think so differently. You hate 
him, but I love him." 

" I do not hate him. It is not that I 
hate him. I hate his vices." 

"So do I." 

" I know that he is not a fit man for 
you to marry. I have not been able 
to tell you the things that I know of 
him." 

" I do not wish to be told." 

"But you might believe me when I 
assure you that they are of a nature to 
make you change your feelings toward 
him. At this very moment he is attached 
to — to — another person." 

Emily Hotspur blushed up to her 
brows, and her cheeks and forehead 
were suffused with blood, but her mouth 
was set as firm as a rock ; and then 
came that curl over her eye which her 
father had so dearly loved when she 



was a child, but which was now held by 
him to be so dangerous. She was not 
going to be talked out of her love in 
that way. Of course there had been 
things — were things — of which she knew 
nothing and desired to know nothing. 
Though she herself was as pure as the 
driven snow, she did not require to be 
told that there were impurities in the 
world. If it was meant to be insinuated 
that he was untrue to her, she simply 
disbelieved it. But what if he were ? 
His untruth would not justify hers. 
And untruth was impossible to her. 
She loved him, and had told him so. 
Let him be ever so false, it was for her 
to bring him back to truth or to spend 
herself in the endeavor. Her father 
did not understand her at all when he 
talked to her after this fashion. But 
she said nothing. Her father was al- 
luding to a matter on which she could 
say nothing. 

" If I could explain to you the way 
in which he has raised money for his 
daily needs, you would feel that he had 
degraded himself beneath your notice." 

"He cannot degrade himself beneath 
my notice — not now. It is too late." 

"But, Emily, do you mean to say, 
then, that, let you set your affections 
where you might — however wrongly, on 
however base an object — your mamma 
and I ought to yield to them, merely 
because they are so set ?" 

" He is your heir, papa." 

"No, you are my heir. But I will 
not argue upon that. Grant that he 
were my heir, even though every acre 
that is mine must go to feed his wicked- 
ness the very moment that I die, would 
that be a reason for giving my child to 
him also ? Do you think that you are 
no more to me than the acres, or the 
house, or the empty title ? They are 
all nothing to my love for you." 

"Papa !" 

" I do not think that you have known 
it. Nay, darling, I have hardly known 
it myself. All other anxieties have 
ceased with me, now that I have come 
to know what it really is to be anxious 
for you. Do you think that I would not 
abandon any consideration as to wealth 



7S 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



or family for your happiness? It has 
come to that with me, Emily, that they 
are nothing to me now — nothing. You 
are everything." 

"Dear papa!" And now once again 
she leant upon his shoulder. 

" When I tell you of the young man's 
life, you will not listen to me. You 
regard it simply as groundless oppo- 
sition." 

"No, papa, not groundless — only 
useless." 

" But am I not bound to see that my 
girl be not united to a man who would 
disgrace her, misuse her, drag her into 
the dirt " — that idea of dragging George 
out was strong in Emily's mind as she 
listened to this — "make her wretched 
and contemptible, and degrade her ? 
Surely this is a father's duty ; and my 
child should not turn from me, and 
almost refuse to speak to me because I 
do it as best I can." 

" I do not turn from you, papa." 

" Has my darling been to me as she 
used to be ?" 

" Look here, papa : you know what it 
is I have promised you." 

"I do, dearest." 

"I will keep my promise. I will 
never marry him till you consent. Even 
though I were to see him every day for 
ten years, I would, not do so when I 
had given my word." 

" I am sure of it, Emily." 

"But let us try, you and I and mam- 
ma together. If you will do that, oh 
I will be so good to you ! Let us see 
if we cannot make him good. I will 
never ask to marry him till you yourself 
are satisfied that he has reformed." She 
looked into his face imploringly, and 
she saw that he was vacillating. And 
yet he was a strong man, not given in 
ordinary things to much doubt. " Papa, 
let us understand each other and be 
friends. If we do not trust each other, 
who can trust any one ?" 

"I do trust you." 

"I shall never care for any one 
else." 

"Do not say that, my child. You 
are too young to know your own heart. 
These are wounds which time will cure. 



Others have suffered as you are suffer- 
ing, and yet have become happy wives 
and mothers." 

"Papa, I shall never change. I 
think I love him more because he is — 
so weak. Like a poor child that is a 
cripple, he wants more love than those 
who are strong. I shall never change. 
And look here, papa : I know it is my 
duty to obey you by not marrying with- 
out your consent. But it can never be 
my duty to marry any one because you 
or mamma ask me. You will agree to 
that, papa?" 

" I should never think of pressing any 
one on you." 

"That is what I mean. And so we 
do understand each other. Nothing 
can teach me not to think of him, and 
to love him, and to pray for him. As 
long as I live I shall do so. Nothing 
you can find out about him will alter 
me in that. Pray, pray do not go on 
finding out bad things. Find out some- 
thing good, and then you will begin to 
love him." 

"But if there is nothing good?" Sir 
Harry, as he said this, remembered the 
indignant refusal of his offer which was 
at that moment in his pocket, and con- 
fessed to himself that he had no right 
to say that nothing good could be found 
in Cousin George. 

"Do not say that, papa. How can 
you say that of any one ? Remember, 
he has our name, and he must some 
day be the head of our family." 

"It will not be long first," said Sir 
Harry, mournfully. 

"Many, many, many years, I hope. 
For his sake, as well as ours, I pray 
that it may be so. But still it is natural 
to suppose that the day will come." 

"Of course it will come." 

"Must it not be right, then, to make 
him fit for it when it comes ? It can't 
be your great duty to think of him as 
it is mine, but still it must be a duty 
to you too. I will not excuse his life, 
papa, but have there not been temp- 
tations, such great temptations ? And 
then, other men are excused for doing 
what he has done. Let us try together, 
papa. Say that you will try." 







"'/ ««?/ keep my promise. I will never marry him till you consent.' 1 '''' — [Page 79.] 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE, 



81 



It was clear to Sir Harry through it 
all that she knew nothing as yet of the 
nature of the man's offences. When 
she spoke of temptation not resisted, 
she was still thinking of commonplace 
extravagance, of the ordinary pleasures 
of fast young men, of race-courses, and 
betting, perhaps, and of tailors' bills. 
That lie which he had told about 
Goodwood she had, as it were, thrown 
behind her, so that she should not be 
forced to look at it. But Sir Harry 
knew him to be steeped in dirty lies up 
to the lip — one who cheated tradesmen 
on system, a gambler who looked out 
for victims, a creature so mean that he 
could take a woman's money ! Mr. 
Boltby had called him a swindler, a card- 
sharper and a cur ; and Sir Harry, though 
he was inclined at the present moment 
to be angry with Mr. Boltby, had never 
known the lawyer to be wrong. And 
this was the man for whom his daughter 
was pleading with all the young enthu- 
siasm of her nature — was pleading, not 
as for a cousin, but in order that he 
might at last be welcomed to that house 
as her lover, her husband, the one 
human being chosen out from all the 
world to be the recipient of the good 
things of which she had the bestowal ! 
The man was so foul in the estimation 
of Sir Harry that it was a stain to be in 
his presence ; and this was the man 
whom he as a father was implored to 
help to save, in order that at some 
future time his daughter might become 
the reprobate's wife ! 

"Papa, say that you will help me," 
repeated Emily, clinging to him and 
looking up into his face. 

He could not say that he would help 
her, and yet he longed to say some word 
that might comfort her : " You have 
been greatly shaken by all this, dearest." 

"Shaken! Yes, in one sense I have 
been shaken. I don't know quite what 
you mean. I shall never be shaken in 
the other way." 

"You have been distressed." 

"Yes, distressed." 

"Yes, indeed, so have we all," he 
continued. " I think it will be best to 
leave this for a while." 
6 



"For how long, papa?" 

"We need not quite fix that. I was 
thinking of going to Naples for the 
winter." He was silent, waiting for her 
approbation, but she expressed none. 
" It is not long since you said how much 
you would like to spend a winter in 
Naples." 

She still paused, but it was but for a 
moment: "At that time, papa, I was 
not engaged." Did she mean to tell 
him that because of this fatal promise 
which she had made she never meant 
to stir from her home till she should be 
allowed to go with that wretch as her 
husband — that because of this promise, 
which could never be fulfilled, every- 
thing should come to an end with her ? 
"Papa," she said, "that would not be 
the way to try to save him — to go away 
and leave him among those who prey 
upon him— unless, indeed, he might go 
too." 

"What! with us?" 

" With you and mamma. Why not ? 
You know what I have promised. You 
can trust me." 

" It is a thing absolutely not to be 
thought of," he said ; and then he left 
her. What was he to do ? He could 
take her abroad, no doubt, but were 
he to do so in her present humor, she 
would of course relapse into that cold, 
silent, unloving, undutiful obedience 
which had been so distressing to him. 
She had made a great request to him, 
and he had not absolutely refused it. 
But the more he thought of it the more 
distasteful did it become to him. You 
cannot touch pitch and not be defiled. 
And the stain of this pitch was so 
very black ! He could pay money, if 
that would soothe her. He could pay 
money, even if the man should not ac- 
cept the offer made to him, should she 
demand it of him. And if the man 
would reform himself, and come out 
through the fire really purified, might it 
not be possible that at some long future 
time Emily should become his wife ? 
Or if some sort of half promise such as 
this were made to Emily, would not 
that soften her for the time, and induce 
her to go abroad with a spirit capable 



S2 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



of satisfaction, if not of pleasure ? If 
this could be brought about, then time 
might do the rest. It would have been 
a delight to him to see his daughter 
married early, even though his own 
home might have been made desolate ; 
but now he would be content if he 
thought he could look forward to some 
future settlement in life that might 
become her rank and fortune. 

Emily, when her father left her, was 
aware that she had received no reply to 
her request which she was entitled to 
regard as encouraging ; but she thought 
that she had broken the ice, and that 
her father would by degrees become 
accustomed to her plan. If she could 
only get him to say that he would watch 
over the unhappy one, she herself would 
not be unhappy. It was not to be ex- 
pected that she should be allowed to 
give her own aid at first to the work, 
but she had her scheme. His debts 
must be paid, and an income provided 
for him. And duties too must be given 
to him. Why should he not live at 
Scarrowby and manage the property 
there ? And then at length he would 
be welcomed to Humblethwaite, when 
her own work might begin. Neither 
for him nor for her must there be any 
living again in London until this task 
should have been completed. That any 
trouble could be too great, any outlay of 
money too vast, for so divine a pur- 
pose, did not occur to her. Was not 
this man the heir to her father's title ? 
and was he not the owner of her own 
heart ? 

Then she knelt down and prayed that 
the Almighty Father would accomplish 
this good work for her ; and yet not 
for her, but for him ; not that she might 
be happy in her love, but that he might 
be as a brand saved from the burning, 
not only hereafter, but here also in the 
sight of men. Alas, dearest ! no : not 
so could it be done! Not at thy in- 
stance, though thy prayers be as pure 
as the songs of angels ; but certainly at 
his, if only he could be taught to know 
that the treasure so desirable in thy 
sight, so inestimable to thee, were a 
boon worthy of his acceptance. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 
GOOD ADVICE. 

Two or three days after the little re- 
quest made by Cousin George to Mrs. 
Morton the Allinghams came suddenly 
to town. George received a note from 
Lady Allingham addressed to him at his 
club : 

"We are going through to the Dray- 
tons in Hampshire. It is a new freak. 
Four or five horses are to be sold, and 
Gustavus thinks of buying the lot. If 
you are in town, come to us. You must 
not think that we are slack about you 
because Gustavus would have nothing 
to do with the money. He will be at 
home to-morrow till eleven. I shall not 
go out till two. We leave on Thursday. 
"Yours, A. A." 

This letter he received on the Wed- 
nesday. Up to that hour he had done 
nothing since his interview with Mr. 
Hart, nor during those few days did 
he hear from that gentleman, or from 
Captain Stubber, or from Mr. Boltby. 
He had written to Sir Harry refusing 
Sir Harry's generous offer, and subse- 
quently to that had made up his mind 
to accept it, and had asked, as the 
reader knows, for Mrs. Morton's assist- 
ance. But the making up of George 
Hotspur's mind was nothing. It was 
unmade again that day after dinner, as 
he thought of all the glories of Hum- 
blethwaite and Scarrowby combined. 
Any one knowing him would have been 
sure that he would do nothing till he 
should be further driven. Now there 
had come upon the scene in London 
one who could drive him. 

He went to the earl's house just at 
eleven, not wishing to seem to avoid 
the earl, but still desirous of seeing as 
little of his friend on that occasion as 
possible. He found Lord Allingham 
standing in his wife's morning-room. 
"How are you, old fellow? How do 
things go with the heiress?" He was 
in excellent humor, and said nothing 
about the refused request. "I must 
be off. You do what my lady advises : 
you may be sure that she knows a deal 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



§3 



more about it than you or I." Then he 
went, wishing George success in his 
usual friendly, genial way, which, as 
George knew, meant very little. 

With Lady Allingham the case was 
different. She was in earnest about it. 
It was to her a matter of real moment 
that this great heiress should marry one 
of her own set, and a man who wanted 
money so badly as did poor George. 
And she liked work of that kind. 
George's matrimonial prospects were 
more interesting to her than her hus- 
band's stables. She was very soon in 
the thick of it all, asking questions 
and finding out how the land lay. She 
knew that George would lie, but that 
was to be expected from a man in his 
position. She knew also that she could 
with fair accuracy extract the truth from 
his lies. 

"Pay all your debts and give you 
five hundred pounds a year for his life ?" 

"The lawyer has offered that," said 
George, sadly. 

"Then you may be sure," continued 
Lady Allingham, "that the young lady 
is in earnest. You have not accepted 
it?" 

" Oh dear ! no. I wrote to Sir Harry 
quite angrily. I told him I wanted my 
cousin's hand." 

"And what next ?" 

"I have heard nothing further from 
anybody." 

Lady Allingham sat and thought. 
" Are these people in London bothering 
you?" George explained that he had 
been bothered a good deal, but not for 
the last four or five days. " Can they 
put you in prison or anything of that- 
kind?" 

George was not quite sure whether 
they might or might not have some 
such power. He had a dreadful weight 
on his mind of which he could say 
nothing to Lady Allingham. Even she 
would be repelled from him were she to 
know of that evening's work between 
him and Messrs. Walker and Bullbean. 
He said at last that he did not think 
they could arrest him, but that he was 
not quite sure. 

"You must do something to let her 



know that you are as much in earnest 
as she is." 

"Exactly." 

" It is no use writing, because she 
wouldn't get your letters." 

"She wouldn't have a chance." 

" And if I understand her she would 
not do anything secretly." 

"I am afraid not," said George. 

"You will live, perhaps, to be glad 
that it is so. When girls come out to 
meet their lovers clandestinely before 
marriage, they get so fond of the excite- 
ment that they sometimes go on doing 
it afterward." 

"She is as — as — as sure to go the 
right side of the post as any girl in the 
world." 

" No doubt. So much the better for 
you. When those girls do catch the 
disease they always have it very badly. 
They mean only to have one affair, and 
naturally want to make the most of it. 
Well, now, what I would do is this. 
Run down to Humblethwaite." 

" To Humblethwaite ?" 

"Yes. I don't suppose you are going 
to be afraid of anybody. Knock at the 
door and send your card to Sir Harry. 
Drive into the stable-yard, so that 
everybody about the place may know 
that you are there, and then ask to see 
the baronet." 

" He wouldn't see me." 

"Then ask to see Lady Elizabeth." 

" She wouldn't be allowed to see me." 

"Then leave a letter, and say that 
you'll wait for an answer. Write to 
Miss Hotspur whatever you like to say 
in the way of a love-letter, and put it 
under cover to Sir Harry — open." 

"She'll never get it." 

" I don't suppose she will. Not but 
what she may — only that isn't the first 
object. But this will come of it. She'll 
know that you've been there. That 
can't be kept from her. You may be 
sure that she was very firm in sticking 
to you when he offered to pay all that 
money to get rid of you. She'll remain 
firm if she's made to know that you 
are the same. Don't let her love die 
out for want of notice." 

"I won't." 



N 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



"If they take her abroad, go after 
them. Stick to it, and you'll wear them 
out if she helps you. And if she 
knows that you are sticking to it, she'll 
do the same for honor. When she 
begins to be a little pale, and to walk 
out at nights, and to cough in the 
morning, they'll be tired out and send 
for Dr. George Hotspur. That's the 
way it will go if you play your game 
well." 

Cousin George was lost in admiration 
at the wisdom and generalship of this 
great counselor, and promised implicit 
obedience. The countess went on to 
explain that it might be expedient to 
postpone this movement for a week or 
two : "You should leave just a little in- 
terval, because you cannot always be 
doing something. For some days after 
his return her father won't cease to 
abuse you, which will keep you well in 
her mind. When those men begin to 
attack you again, so as to make London 
too hot, then run down to Humble- 
thwaite. Don't hide your light under 
a bushel. Let the people down there 
know all about it." 

George Hotspur swore eternal grati- 
tude and implicit obedience, and went 
back to his club. 

Mr. Hart and Captain Stubber did 
not give him much rest. From Mr. 
Boltby he received no further commu- 
nication. For the present Mr. Boltby 
thought it well to leave him in the 
hands of Mr. Hart and Captain Stubber. 
Mr. Boltby, indeed, did not as yet know 
all Mr. Bullbean's story, although cer- 
tain hints had reached him which had, 
as he thought, justified him in adding 
the title of card-sharper to those other 
titles with which he had decorated his 
client's cousin's name. Had he known 
the entire Walker story, he would prob- 
ably have thought that Cousin George 
might have been bought at a consider- 
ably cheaper price than that fixed in the 
baronet's offer, which was still in force. 
But then Mr. Hart had his little doubts 
also and his difficulties. He too could 
perceive that were he to make this last 
little work of Captain Hotspur's common 
property in the market, it might so 



far sink Captain Hotspur's condition 
and value in the world that nobody 
would think it worth his while to pay 
Captain Hotspur's debts. At present 
there was a proposition from an old 
gentleman possessed of enormous wealth 
to pay "all Captain Hotspur's debts." 
Three months ago Mr. Hart would 
willingly have sold every scrap of the 
captain's paper in his possession for 
the half of the sum inscribed on it. 
The whole sum was now promised, and 
would undoubtedly be paid if the cap- 
tain could be worked upon to do as Mr. 
Boltby desired. But if the gentlemen 
employed on this delicate business were 
to blow upon the captain too severely, 
Mr. Boltby would have no such absolute 
necessity to purchase the captain. The 
captain would sink to zero, and not 
need purchasing. Mr. Walker must 
have back his money, or so much of it 
as Mr. Hart might permit him to take. 
That probably might be managed, and 
the captain must be thoroughly fright- 
ened, and must be made to write the 
letter which Mr. Boltby desired. Mr. 
Hart understood his work very well — 
so, it is hoped, does the reader. 

Captain Stubber was in these days a 
thorn in our hero's side, but Mr. Hart 
was a scourge of scorpions. Mr. Hart 
never ceased to talk of Mr. Walker, and 
of the determination of Walker and 
Bullbean to go before a magistrate if 
restitution were not made. Cousin 
George of course denied the foul play, 
but admitted that he would repay the 
money if he had it There should be 
no difficulty about the money, Mr. Hart 
assured him, if he would only write 
that letter to Mr. Boltby. In fact, if 
he would write that letter to Mr. Boltby, 
he should be made " shquare all round." 
So Mr. Hart was pleased to express 
himself. But if this were not done, 
and done at once, Mr. Hart swore by 
his God that Captain "Oshspur " should 
be sold up, root and branch, without 
another day's mercy. The choice was 
between five hundred pounds a year in 
any of the capitals of Europe, and that 
without a debt — or penal servitude. 
That was the pleasant form in which 



S/R HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



*> 



Mr. Hart put the matter to his young 
friend. 

Cousin George drank a good deal 
of cura^oa and doubted between Lady 
Allingham and Mr. Hart. He knew 
that he had not told everything to the 
countess. Excellent as was her scheme, 
perfect as was her wisdom, her advice 
was so far more dangerous than the Jew's, 
that it was given somewhat in the dark. 
The Jew knew pretty well everything. 
The Jew was interested, of course, and 
therefore his advice must also be regard- 
ed with suspicion. At last, when Mr. 
Hart and Captain Stubber between them 
had made London too hot to hold him, 
he started for Humblethwaite ; not with- 
out leaving a note for "dear Mr. Hart," 
in which he explained that he was going 
to Westmoreland with a purpose that 
would, he trusted, very speedily enable 
him to pay every shilling that he owed. 

"Yesh," said Mr. Hart, "and if he 
ain't quick he shall come back with a 
'andcuff on." 

Captain Hotspur could not very well 
escape Mr. Hart. He started by the 
night-train for Penrith, and before doing 
so prepared a short letter for Miss Hot- 
spur, which, as instructed, he put open 
under an envelope addressed to the 
baronet. There should be nothing clan- 
destine, nothing dishonorable. Oh dear ! 
no. He quite taught himself to believe 
that he would have hated anything dis- 
honorable or clandestine. His letter 
was as follows : 

" Dearest Emily : After what has 
passed between us, I cannot bear not to 
attempt to see you or to write to you. 
So I shall go down and take this letter 
with me. Of course I shall not take 
any steps of which Sir Harry might 
disapprove. I wrote to him two or 
three weeks ago, telling him what I 
proposed, and I thought that he would 
have answered me. As I have not heard 
from him, I shall take this with me to 
Humblethwaite, and shall hope, though 
I do not know whether I may dare to 
expect, to see the girl I love better than 
all the world. Always your own, 

"George Hotspur." 



Even this was not composed by him- 
self, for Cousin George, though he could 
often talk well — or at least sufficiently 
well for the purposes which he had on 
hand — was not good with his pen on 
such an occasion as this. Lady Alling- 
ham had sent him by post a rough copy 
of what he had better say, and he had 
copied her ladyship's words verbatim. 
There is no matter of doubt at all but 
that on all such subjects an average 
woman can write a better letter than an 
average man ; and Cousin George was 
therefore right to obtain assistance from 
his female friends. 

He slept at Penrith till nearly noon, 
then breakfasted and started with post- 
horses for Humblethwaite. He felt that 
everybody knew what he was about, 
and was almost ashamed of being seen. 
Nevertheless he obeyed his instructions. 
He had himself driven up through the 
lodges and across the park into the large 
stable-yard of the Hall. Lady Alling- 
ham had quite understood that more 
people must see and hear him in this 
way than if he merely rang at the front 
door and were from thence dismissed. 
The grooms and the coachman saw him, 
as did also three or four of the maids, 
who were in the habit of watching to 
see that the grooms and coachman did 
their work. He had brought with him 
a traveling-bag — not expecting to be 
asked to stay and dine, but thinking it 
well to be prepared. This, however, he 
left in the fly as he walked round to 
the hall door. The footman was already 
there when he appeared, as word had 
gone through the house that Mr. George 
had arrived. Was Sir Harry at home ? 
Yes, Sir Harry was at home ; and 
then George found himself in a small 
parlor, or book-room, or subsidiary 
library, which he had very rarely known 
to be used. But there was a fire in the 
room, and he stood before it, twiddling 
his hat. 

In a quarter of an hour the door wat. 
opened, and the servant came in with a 
tray and wine and sandwiches. George 
felt it to be an inappropriate welcome, 
but still, after a fashion, it was a welcome. 

" Is Sir Harry in the house ?" he asked. 



86 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



"Yes, Mr. Hotspur." 

" Does he know that I am here ?" 

"Yes, Mr. Hotspur, I think he does." 

Then it occurred to Cousin George 
that perhaps he might bribe the servant, 
and he put his hand into his pocket. 
But before he had communicated the 
two half-crowns, it struck him that there 
was no possible request which he could 
make to the man in reference to which 
a bribe would be serviceable. 

"Just ask them to look to the horses," 
he said : " I don't know whether they 
were taken out." 

"The horses is feeding, Mr. Hotspur," 
said the man. 

Every word the man spoke was 
gravely spoken, and George understood 
perfectly that he was held to have done 
a very wicked thing in coming to Hum- 
blethwaite. Nevertheless, there was a 
decanter full of sherry, which, as far as 
it went, was an emblem of kindness. 
Nobody should sav that he was un- 



willing to accept kindness at his cousin's 
hands, and he helped himself liberally. 
Before he was interrupted again he had 
filled his glass four times. 

But in truth it needed something to 
support him. For a whole hour after 
the servant's disappearance he was left 
alone. There were books in the room, 
hundreds of them, but in such circum- 
stances who could read ? Certainly not 
Cousin George, to whom books at no 
time gave much comfort. Twice and 
thrice he stepped toward the bell, in- 
tending to ring it and ask again for Sir 
Harry, but twice and thrice he paused. 
In his position he was bound not to give 
offence to Sir Harry. At last the door 
was opened, and, with silent step and 
grave demeanor and solemn counte- 
nance, Lady Elizabeth walked into the 
room. "We are very sorry that you 
should have been kept so long waiting, 
Captain Hotspur," she said. 




SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



8 7 



PART VII 



CHAPTER XIX 
THE NEW SMITHY. 

SIR HARRY was sitting alone in 
the library when the tidings were 
brought to him that George Hotspur had 
reached Humblethwaite with a pair of 
post-horses from Penrith. The old but- 
ler, Cloudesdale, brought him the news, 
and Cloudesdale whispered it into his 
ears with solemn sorrow. Cloudesdale 
was well aware that Cousin George was 
no credit to the house of Humble- 
thwaite. And much about the same 
time the information was brought to 
Lady Elizabeth by her housekeeper and 
to Emily by her own maid. It was 
by Cloudesdale's orders that George 
was shown into the small room near 
the hall ; and he told Sir Harry what 
he had done in a funereal whisper. 
Lady Allingham had been quite right 
in her method of ensuring the general 
delivery of the information about the 
house. 

Emily flew at once to her mother. 
"George is here," she said. Mrs. Quick, 
the housekeeper, was at that moment 
leaving the room. 

" So Quick tells me. What can have 
brought him, my dear ?" 

" Why should he not come, mamma ?" 

"Because your papa will not make 
him welcome to the house. Oh dear ! 
he knows that. What are we to do ?" 
In a few minutes Mrs. Quick came 
back again. Sir Harry would be much 
obliged if her ladyship would go to him. 
Then it was that the sandwiches and 
sherry were ordered. It was a compro- 
mise on the part of Lady Elizabeth 
between Emily's prayer that some wel- 
come might be shown and Sir Harry's 
presumed determination that the ban- 
ished man should continue to be re- 
garded as banished. " Take him some 
kind of refreshment, Quick — a glass of 



wine or something, you know." Then 
Mrs. Quick had cut the sandwiches 
with her own hand, and Cloudesdale 
had given the sherry. "He ain't eaten 
much, but he's made it up with the 
wine," said Cloudesdale when the tray 
was brought back again. 

Lady Elizabeth went down to her 
husband, and there was a consultation. 
Sir Harry was quite clear that he would 
not now, on this day, admit Cousin 
George as a guest into his house, nor 
would he see him. To that conclusion 
he came after his wife had been with 
him some time. He would not see him 
there at Humblethwaite. If George 
had anything to say that could not be 
said in a letter, a meeting might be 
arranged elsewhere. Sir Harry con- 
fessed, however, that he could not see 
that good results could come from any 
meeting whatsoever. "The truth is, 
that I don't want to have anything more 
to do with him," said Sir Harry. That 
was all very well, but as Emily's wants 
in this respect were at variance with 
her father's, there was a difficulty. 
Lady Elizabeth pleaded that some kind 
of civility, at least some mitigation of 
opposition, should be shown, for Emily's 
sake. At last she was commissioned to 
go to Cousin George, to send him away 
from the house, and, if necessary, to 
make an appointment between him and 
Sir Harry at the Crown at Penrith for 
the morrow. Nothing on earth should 
induce Sir Harry to see his cousin any- 
where on his own premises. As for any 
meeting between Cousin George and 
Emily, that was of course out of the 
question, and he must go from Hum- 
blethwaite. Such were the instructions 
with which Lady Elizabeth descended 
to the little room. 

Cousin George came forward with the 
pleasantest smile to take Lady Elizabeth 
by the hand. He was considerably re- 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



heved when he saw Lady Elizabeth, 
because of her he was not afraid. " I 
do not at all mind waiting," he said. 
"How is Sir Harry?" 

"Quite well." 

"And yourself?" 

" Pretty well, thank you." 

"And Emily ?" 

Lady Elizabeth knew that in answer- 
ing him she ought to call her own daugh- 
ter Miss Hotspur, but she lacked the 
courage : " Emily is well too. Sir Harry 
has thought it best that I should come 
to you and explain that just at present 
he cannot ask you to Humblethwaite." 

"I did not expect it." 

"And he had rather not see you him- 
self — at least not here." Lady Elizabeth 
had not been instructed to propose a 
meeting. She had been told rather to 
avoid it if possible. But like some other 
undiplomatic ambassadors, in her desire 
to be civil she ran at once to the ex- 
tremity of the permitted concessions. 
"If you have anything to say to Sir 
Harry — " 

"I have, Lady Elizabeth — a great 
deal." 

"And if you could write it — " 

" I am so bad at writing." 

"Then Sir Harry will go over and see 
you to-morrow at Penrith." 

" That will be so very troublesome to 
him !" 

" You need not regard that. At what 
hour shall he come ?" 

Cousin George was profuse in de- 
claring that he would be at his cousin's 
disposal at any hour Sir Harry might 
select, from six in the morning through- 
out the day and night. But might he 
not say a word to Emily ? At this prop- 
osition Lady Elizabeth shook her head 
vigorously. It was quite out of the 
question. Circumstanced as they all 
were at present, Sir Harry would not 
think of such a thing. And then it 
would do no good. Lady Elizabeth did 
not believe that Emily herself would 
wish it. At any rate, there need be no 
further talk about it, as any such inter- 
view was at present quite impossible. 
By all which arguments and refusals, 
and the tone in which they were pro- 



nounced, Cousin George was taught to 
perceive that — at any rate, in the mind 
of Lady Elizabeth — the process of pa- 
rental yielding had already commenced. 
On all such occasions interviews are 
bad. The teller of this story ventures 
to take the opportunity of recommend- 
ing parents in such cases always to re- 
fuse interviews, not only between the 
young lady and the lover who is to be 
excluded, but also between themselves 
and the lover. The vacillating tone, 
even when the resolve to suppress va- 
cillation has been most determined, is 
perceived and understood, and at once 
utilized, by the least argumentative of 
lovers, even by lovers who are obtuse. 
The word "never" may be so pro- 
nounced as to make the young lady's 
twenty thousand pounds full present 
value for ten in the lover's pocket. 
There should be no arguments, no let- 
ters, no interviews, and the young lady's 
love should be starved by the absence 
of all further mention of the name, and 
by the imperturbable good -humor on 
all other matters of those with whom 
she comes in contact in her own do- 
mestic circle. If it be worth anything, 
it won't be starved, but if starving to 
death be possible, that is the way to 
starve it. Lady Elizabeth was a bad 
ambassador ; and Cousin George, when 
he took his leave promising to be ready 
to meet Sir Harry at twelve on the mor- 
row, could almost comfort himself with 
a prospect of success. He might be 
successful if only he could stave off trfe 
Walker and Bullbean portion of Mr. 
Hart's persecution ! For he understood 
that the success of his views at Humble- 
thwaite must postpone the payment by 
Sir Harry of those moneys for which Mr. 
Hart and Captain Stubber were so un- 
reasonably greedy. He would have 
dared to defy the greed but for the 
Walker and Bullbean portion of the af- 
fair. Sir Harry already knew that he was 
in debt to these men — already knew with 
fair accuracy the amount of those debts. 
Hart and Stubber could not make him 
worse in Sir Harry's eyes than he was 
already, unless the Walker and Bullbean 
story should be told with the purpose 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBIETHWAITE. 



89 



of destroying him. How he did hate 
Walker and Bullbean and the memory 
of that evening ! and yet the money 
which now enabled him to drink cham- 
pagne at the Penrith Crown was poor 
Mr. Walker's money ! As he was 
driven back to Penrith he thought of 
all this, for some moments sadly and 
at others almost with triumph. Might 
not a letter to Mr. Hart, with perhaps 
a word of truth in it, do some good ? 
That evening, after his champagne, he 
wrote a letter : 

" Dear Mr. Hart : Things are going 
uncommon well here, only I hope you 
will do nothing to disturb just at present. 
It must come off if a little time is given, 
and then every shilling will be paid. A 
few pounds more or less won't make any 
difference. Do arrange this, and you'll 
find I'll never forget how kind you have 
been. I've been at Humblethwaite to- 
day, and things are going quite smooth. 
"Yours most sincerely, 

"George Hotspur. 

" Don't mention Walker's name, and 
everything shall be settled just.as you 
shall fix. 

"The Crown, Penrith, Thursday." 

The moment the letter was written he 
rang the bell and gave it to the waiter. 
Such was the valor of drink operating 
on him now, as it had done when he 
wrote that other letter to Sir Harry ! 
The drink made him brave to write, 
and to make attempts, and to dare con- 
sequences ; but even whilst brave with 
drink, he knew that the morning's pru- 
dence would refuse its assent to such 
courage, and therefore, to save himself 
from the effects of the morning's cow- 
ardice, he put the letter at once out of 
his own power of control. After this 
fashion were arranged most of Cousin 
George's affairs. Before dinner on that 
day the evening of which he had passed 
with Mr. Walker he had resolved that 
certain hints given to him by Mr. Bull- 
bean should be of no avail to him — not 
to that had he yet descended, nor 
would he so descend — but with his 
brandy after dinner divine courage had 
come, and success had attended the 



brave. As soon as he was awake on 
that morning after writing to Mr. Hart, 
he rang his bell to inquire whether that 
letter which he had given to the waiter 
at twelve o'clock last night were still in 
the house. It was too late. The letter 
in which so imprudent a mention had 
been made of Mr. Walker's name was 
already in the post. Never mind," 
said Cousin George to himself: "' None 
but the brave deserve the fair.' " Then 
he turned round for another nap. It 
was not much past nine, and Sir Harry 
would not be there before twelve. 

In the mean time there had been 
hope also and doubt also at Humble- 
thwaite. Sir Harry was not surprised 
and hardly disappointed when he was 
told that he was to go to Penrith to see 
his cousin. The offer had been made 
by himself, and he was sure that he 
would not escape with less ; and when 
Emily was told by her mother of the 
arrangement, she saw in it a way to the 
fulfillment of the prayer which she had 
made to her father. She would say 
nothing to him that evening, leaving to 
him the opportunity of speaking to her 
should he choose to do so. But on the 
following morning she would repeat her 
prayer. On that evening not a word 
was said about George while Sir Harry 
and Lady Elizabeth were together with 
their daughter. Emily had made her 
plan, and she clung to it. Her father 
was very gentle with her, sitting close 
to her as she played some piece of music 
to him in the evening, caressing her 
and looking lovingly into her eyes as 
he bade God bless her when she left 
him for the night ; but he had deter- 
mined to say nothing to encourage her. 
He was still minded that there could be 
no such encouragement, but he doubted 
— in his heart of hearts he doubted. 
He would still have bought off Cousin 
George by the sacrifice of half his prop- 
erty, and yet he doubted. After all, 
there would be some consolation in that 
binding together of the name and the 
property. 

"What will you say to him, dear?" 
Lady Elizabeth asked her husband that 
nigbt. 



9° 



SIR BARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



"Tell him to go away." 

"Nothing more than that ?" 

"What more is there to say ? If he 
be willing to be bought, I will buy him. 
I will pay his debts and give him an 
income." 

"You think, then, there can be no 
hope?" 

" Hope ! For whom ?" 

" For Emily." 

" I hope to preserve her from a scoun- 
drel." And yet he had thought of the 
consolation ! 

Emily was very persistent in carrying 
out her plan. Prayers at Humblethwaite 
were always read with admirable punc- 
tuality at a quarter past nine, so that 
breakfast might be commenced at half 
past. Sir Harry every week-day was 
in his own room for three quarters of an 
hour before prayers. All this was like 
clockwork at Humblethwaite. There 
would always be some man or men with 
Sir Harry during these three quarters 
of an hour — a tenant, a gamekeeper, a 
groom, a gardener or a bailiff. But 
Emily calculated that if she made her 
appearance and held her ground the 
tenant or the bailiff would give way, 
and that thus she would ensure a pri- 
vate interview with her father. Were 
she to wait till after breakfast this would 
be difficult. A very few minutes after 
the half hour she knocked at the door 
and was admitted. The village black- 
smith was then suggesting to Sir Harry 
a new smithy. 

"Papa," said Emily, "if you would 
allow me half a minute — " 

The village blacksmith and the bailiff, 
who was also present, withdrew, bowing 
to Emily, who gave to each of them a 
smile and a nod. They were her old 
familiar friends, and they looked kindly 
at her. She was to be their future lady, 
but was it not all important that their 
future lord should be a Hotspur ? 

Sir Harry had thought it not improb- 
able that his daughter would come to 
him, but would have preferred to avoid 
the interview if possible. Here it was, 
however, and could not be avoided. 

"Papa," she said, kissing him, "you 
are going to Penrith to-day?" 



"Yes, my dear." 

" To see Cousin George ?" 

"Yes, Emily." 

"Will you remember what we were 
saying the other day ? — what I said ?" 

" I will endeavor to do my duty as 
best I may," said Sir Harry after a 
pause. 

" I am sure you will, papa, and so do 
I. I do endeavor to do my duty. Will 
you not try to help him ?" 

"Certainly, I will try to help him— 
for your sake rather than for his own. 
If I can help him with money, by pay- 
ing his debts and giving him means to 
live, I will do so." 

"Papa, that is not what I mean." 

"What else can I do ?" 

"Save him from the evil of his ways." 

" I will try. I would if I knew how, 
even if only for the name's sake." 

" For my sake also, papa. Papa, let 
us do it together — you and I and mam- 
ma. Let him come here." 

" It is impossible." 

"Let him come here," she said, as 
though disregarding his refusal. "You 
need not be afraid of me. I know how 
much there is to do that will be very 
hard in doing before any — any other 
arrangement can be talked about." 

"I am not afraid of you, my child." 

"Let him come, then." 

"No : it would do no good. Do you 
think he would live here quietly ?" 

"Try him." 

"What would people say ?" 

" Never mind what people would say : 
he is our cousin — he is your heir. He 
is the person whom I love best in all 
the world. Have you not a right to 
have him here if you wish it ? I know 
what you are thinking of; but, papa, 
there can never be anybody else— - 
never." 

" Emily, you will kill me, I think." 

" Dear papa, let us see if we cannot 
try. And oh, papa, pray, pray let me 
see him." 

When she went away the bailiff and 
the blacksmith returned, but Sir Harry's 
power of resistance was gone, so that 
he succumbed to the new smithy with- 
out a word. 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



9* 



CHAPTER XX. 

COUSIN GEORGE'S SUCCESS. 

Thoughts crowded quick into the 
mind of Sir Harry Hotspur as he had 
himself driven over to Penrith. It was 
a dull, dreary day in November, and 
he took the close carriage. The dis- 
tance was about ten miles, and he had 
therefore something above an hour for 
thinking. When men think much they 
can rarely decide. The affairs as to 
which a man has once acknowledged 
to himself that he may be either wise 
or foolish, prudent or imprudent, are 
seldom matters on which he can by any 
amount of thought bring himself to a 
purpose which to his own eyes shall be 
clearly correct. When he can decide 
without thinking, then he can decide 
without a doubt and with perfect satis- 
faction. But in this matter Sir Harry 
thought much. There had been various 
times at which he was quite sure that 
it was his duty to repudiate this cousin 
utterly. There had never been a time 
at which he had been willing to accept 
him. Nevertheless, at this moment, 
with all his struggles of thought, he 
could not resolve. Was his higher duty 
due to his daughter or to his family, 
and through his family to his country, 
which, as he believed, owed its security 
and glory to the maintenance of its 
aristocracy? Would he be justified — 
justified in any degree — in subjecting 
his child to danger in the hope that his 
name and family pride might be main- 
tained ? Might he take his own desires 
in that direction as any makeweight 
toward a compliance with his girl's 
strong wishes, grounded as they were 
on quite other reasons ? Mr. Boltby 
had been very eager in telling him that 
he ought to have nothing to say to this 
cousin, had loaded the cousin's name 
with every imaginable evil epithet ; and 
of Mr. Boltby' s truth and honesty there 
could be no doubt. But then Mr. Boltby 
had certainly exceeded his duty, and 
was of course disposed, by his profes- 
sional view of the matter, to think any 
step the wisest which would tend to save 
the property from dangerous hands. 



Sir Harry felt that there were things to 
be saved of more value than the prop- 
erty — the family, the title, perhaps that 
reprobate cousin himself; and then, 
above all, his child. He did believe 
that his child would not smile for him 
again unless he would consent to make 
some effort in favor of her lover. 

Doubtless the man was very bad. Sir 
Harry was sick at heart as he thought 
of the evil nature of the young man's 
vices. Of a man debauched in his life, 
extravagant with his money, even of a 
gambler, a drunkard, one fond of low 
men and of low women, — of one even 
such as this there might be hope ; and 
the vicious man, if he will give up his 
vices, may still be loved and at last re- 
spected. But of a liar, a swindler, one 
mean as well as vicious, what hope 
could there be ? It was essential to Sir 
Harry that the husband of his daughter 
should at any rate be a gentleman. 
The man's blood, indeed, was good, 
and blood will show at last, let the 
mud be ever so deep. So said Sir 
Harry to himself. And Emily would 
consent that the man should be tried 
by what severest fire might be kindled 
for the trying of him. If there were 
any gold there, it might be possible to 
send the dross adrift and to get the gold 
without alloy. Could Lady Allingham 
have read Sir Harry's mind as his car- 
riage was pulled up, just at twelve 
o'clock, at the door of the Penrith 
Crown, she would have been stronger 
than ever in her belief that young 
lovers, if they be firm, can always con- 
quer opposing parents, i^/^" ~"^— -- 

But, alas ! alas ! there was no gold 
with this dross, and in that matter of 
blood, as to which Sir Harry's ideas 
were so strong, and indeed so noble, he 
entertained but a muddled theory. No- 
blesse oblige. High position will de- 
mand, and will often exact, high work. 
But that rule holds as good with a 
Bonaparte as with a Bourbon, with a 
Cromwell as with a Stuart, and suc- 
ceeds as often and fails as often with 
the low born as with the high. And 
good blood too will have its effect — 
physical for the most part — and will 



02 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



produce bottom, lasting courage, that 
capacity of carrying on through the mud 
to which Sir Harry was wont to allude, 
but good blood will bring no man back 
to honesty. The two things together 
no doubt assist in producing the highest 
order of self-denying man. 

When Sir Harry got out of his car- 
riage he had not yet made up his mind. 
The waiter had been told that he was 
expected, and showed him up at once 
into the large sitting-room looking out 
into the street which Cousin George 
had bespoke for the occasion. He had 
had a smaller room himself, but had 
been smoking there, and at this moment 
in that room there was a decanter and a 
wine-glass on the chiffonier in one 
corner. He had heard the bustle of the 
arrival, and had at once gone into the 
saloon prepared for the reception of the 
great man. " I am so sorry to give 
you this trouble," said Cousin George, 
coming forward to greet his relative. 

Sir Harry could not refuse his cousin's 
hand, though he would willingly have 
done so had it been possible. " I 
should not mind the trouble," he said, 
"if it were of any use. I fear it can be 
of none." 

"I hope you will not be prejudiced 
against me, Sir Harry." 

" I trust that I am not prejudiced 
against any one. What is it that you 
wish me to do ?" 

" I want permission to go to Humble- 
thwaite as a suitor for your daughter's 
hand." So far Cousin George had pre- 
pared his speech beforehand. 

"And what have you to recommend 
you to a father for such permission ? 
Do you not know, sir, that when a gen- 
tleman proposes to a lady, it is his duty 
to show that he is in a condition fit for 
the position which he seeks — that in 
character, in means, in rank, in conduct, 
he is at least her equal." 

"As for our rank, Sir Harry, it is the 
same." 

" And for your means ? You know 
that my daughter is my heiress ?" 

" I do, but it is not that that has 
brought me to her. Of course I have 
nothing. But then, you know, though 



she will inherit the estates, I must 
inherit — " 

" If you please, sir, we will not go 
into all that again," said Sir Harry, in- 
terrupting him. "I explained to you 
before, sir, that I would have admitted 
your future rank as a counterpoise to 
her fortune if I could have trusted your 
character. I cannot trust it. I do not 
know why you should thrust upon me 
the necessity of saying all this again. 
As I believe that you are in pecuniary 
distress, I made you an offer which I 
thought to be liberal." 

" It was liberal, but it did not suit 
me to accept it." George had an ink- 
ling of what would pass within Sir 
Harry's bosom as to the acceptance or 
rejection of that offer. " I wrote to you 
declining it, and as I have received no 
answer, I thought that I would just run 
down. What was I to do ?" 

" Do ? How can I tell ? Pay your 
debts. The money was offered you." 

" I cannot give up my cousin. Has 
she been allowed to receive the letter 
which I left for her yesterday ?" 

Now, Sir Harry had doubted much in 
his own mind as to the letter. During 
that morning's interview it had still been 
in his own possession. As he was pre- 
paring to leave the house he had made 
up his mind that she should have it, 
and Lady Elizabeth had been commis- 
sioned to give it her, not without in- 
struction and explanation. Her father 
would not keep it from her, because he 
trusted her implicitly, but she was to 
understand that it could mean nothing 
to her, and that the letter must not of 
course be answered. 

" It does not matter whether she did 
or did not," said Sir Harry. " I ask you 
again whether you will accept the offer 
made you by Mr. Boltby, and give me 
your written promise not to renew this 
suit?" 

"I cannot do that, Sir Harry." 

Sir Harry did not know how to pro- 
ceed with the interview. As he had 
come there, some proposition must be 
made by himself. Had he intended to 
be altogether obstinate, he should have 
remained at Humblethwaite and kept 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



93 



his cousin altogether out of the house. 
And now his daughter's prayers were 
ringing in his ears : " Dear papa, let us 
see if we cannot try." And then again 
that assurance which she had made him 
so solemnly : " Papa, there never can 
be anybody else !" If the black sheep 
could be washed white, the good of such 
washing would on every side be so 
great ! He would have to blush — let 
the washing be ever so perfect, he must 
always blush — in having such a son-in- 
law ; but he had been forced to acknow- 
ledge to himself of late that there was 
infinitely more of trouble and shame in 
this world than of joy or honor. Was 
it not in itself a disgrace that a Hotspur 
should do such things as this cousin 
had done, and a disgrace also that his 
daughter should have loved a man so 
unfit to be her lover ? And then from 
day to day, and from hour to hour, he 
remembered that these ills were added 
to the death of that son who, had he 
lived, would have been such a glory to 
him. More of trouble and disgrace ! 
Was it not all trouble and disgrace ? 
He would have wished that the day 
might come for him to go away and 
leave it all, were it not that for one 
placed as he was placed his own life 
would not see the end of these troubles. 
He must endeavor to provide that every- 
thing should not go to utter ruin as soon 
as he should have taken his departure. 
He walked about the room again, try- 
ing to think. Or perhaps all thinking 
was over with him now, and he was re- 
solving in his own mind how best he 
might begin to yield. He must obey 
his daughter. He could not break the 
heart of the only child that was left to 
him. He had no delight in the world 
other than what came to him reflected 
back from her. He felt now as though 
he was simply a steward endeavoring 
on her behalf to manage things to the 
best advantage ; but still only a steward, 
and as such only a servant who could 
not at last decide on the mode of man- 
agement to be adopted. He could en- 
deavor to persuade, but she must decide. 
Now his daughter had decided, and he 
must begin this task, so utterly distaste- 



ful to him, of endeavoring to wash the 
blackamoor white. 

"What are you willing to do?" he 
asked. 

" How to do, Sir Harry ?" 

"You have led a bad life." 

" I suppose I have, Sir Harry." 

" How will you show yourself willing 
to reform it?" 

" Only pay my debts and set me up 
with ready money, and I'll go along as 
slick as grease !" Thus would Cousin 
George have answered the question had 
he spoken his mind freely. But he 
knew that he might not be so explicit. 
He must promise much, but of course, 
in making his promise, he must arrange 
about his debts. "I'll do almost any- 
thing you like. Only try me. Of 
course it would be so much easier it 
those debts were paid off. I'll give up 
races altogether, if you mean that, Sir 
Harry. Indeed, I'm ready to give up 
anything." 

"Will you give up London ?" 

" London !" In simple truth, George 
did not quite understand the proposition. 

"Yes : will you leave London ? Will 
you go and live at Scarrowby, and learn 
to look after the farm and the place ?" 

George's face fell, his face being less 
used to lying than his tongue, but his 
tongue lied at once : " Oh yes, certainly, 
if you wish it. I should rather like a 
life of that sort. For how long would 
it be ?" 

"For two years," said Sir Harry, 
grimly. 

Cousin George, in truth, did not un- 
derstand. He thought that he was to 
take his bride with him when he went 
to Scarrowby, " Perhaps Emily would 
not like it," he said. 

" It is what she desires. You do not 
suppose that she knows so little of your 
past life as to be willing to trust herself 
into your hands at once. She is attached 
to you." 

"And so am I to her — on my honor, 
I am. I'm sure you don't doubt that." 

Sir Harry doubted every word that 
fell from his cousin's mouth, but still he 
persevered. He could perceive though 
he could not analyze, and there was 



94 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



hardly a tone which poor Cousin George 
used which did not discourage the ba- 
ronet. Still, he persevered. He must 
persevere now, even if it were only to 
prove to Emily how much of basest clay 
and how little of gold there was in this 
image. 

"She is attached to you," he contin- 
ued, "and you bear our name and will 
be the head of our family. If you will 
submit yourself to a reformed life, and 
will prove that you are fit for her, it may 
be possible that after years she should 
be your wife." 

"After years, Sir Harry ?" 

"Yes, sir, after years. Do you sup- 
pose that the happiness of such a one 
is she can be trusted to such keeping 
as yours without a trial of you ? You 
will find that she has , no such hope 
herself." 

"Oh, of course: what she likes — " 

"I will pay your debts on condition 
that Mr. Boltby is satisfied that he has 
the entire list of them." 

George, as he heard this, at once de- 
termined that he must persuade Mr. Hart 
to include Mr. Walker's little account 
in that due to himself. It was only a 
matter of a few hundreds, and might 
surely be arranged when so much real 
money would be passing from hand to 
hand. 

" I will pay everything : you shall 
then go down to Scarrowby, and the 
house shall be prepared for you." 

It wasn't supposed, George thought, 
that he was absolutely to live in solitary 
confinement at Scarrowby. He might 
have a friend or two, and then the sta- 
tion was very near. 

"You are fond of shooting, and you 
will have plenty of it there. We will 
get you made a magistrate for the coun- 
ty, and there is much to do in looking 
after the property." Sir Harry became 
almost good-humored in his tone as he 
described the kind of life which he in- 
tended that the blackamoor should live. 
" We will come to you for a month each 
year, and then you can come to us for 
a while." 

"When shall it begin ?" asked Cousin 
(reorge as soon as the baronet paused. 



This was a question difficult to be an- 
swered. In fact, the arrangement must 
be commenced at once. Sir Harry 
knew very well that, having so far 
yielded, he must take his cousin back 
with him to Humblethwaite. He must 
keep his cousin now in his possession 
till all those debts should be paid and 
till the house at Scarrowby should be 
prepared, and he must trust to his daugh- 
ter's prudence and high sense of right 
not to treat her lover with too tender 
an acknowledgment of her love till he 
should have been made to pass through 
the fire of reform. 

"You had better get ready and come 
back to Humblethwaite with me now," 
said Sir Harry. 

Within five minutes after that there 
was bustling about the passages and 
hall of the Crown Hotel. Everybody in 
the house, from the august landlord 
down to the humble stable-boy, knew 
that there had been a reconciliation be- 
tween Sir Harry and his cousin, and 
that the cousin was to be made welcome 
to all the good the gods could give. 
While Cousin George was packing his 
things, Sir Harry called for the bill and 
paid it — without looking at it, because 
he would not examine how the blacka- 
moor had lived while he was still a 
blackamoor. 

" I wonder whether he observed the 
brandy ?" thought Cousin George to 
himself. 



CHAPTER XXI. 
EMILY HOTSPUR'S SERMON. 

The greater portion of the joUrney 
back to Humblethwaite was passed in 
silence. Sir Harry had undertaken an 
experiment in which he had no faith 
himself, and was sad at heart. Cousin 
George was cowed, half afraid, and yet 
half triumphant. Could it be possible 
that he should "pull through," after all ? 
Some things had gone so well with him. 
His lady friends had been so true to 
him ! Lady Allingham, and then Mrs. 
Morton, how good they had been ! Dear 
Lucy ! He would never forget her. 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



95 



And Emily was such a brick ! He was 
going to see his Emily, and that would 
be so "jolly!" Nevertheless, he did 
acknowledge to himself that an Emily 
prepared to assist her father in sending 
her lover through the fire of reform 
would not be altogether "so jolly" as 
the Emily who had leaned against him 
on the bridge at Airey Force while his 
arm had been tight clasped round her 
waist. He was alive to the fact that 
romance must give place to business. 

When they had entered the park gates 
Sir Harry spoke: "You must under- 
stand, George " — he had not called him 
George before since the engagement 
had been made known to him — "that 
you cannot yet be admitted here as my 
daughter's accepted suitor, as might 
have been the case had your past life 
been different." 

"I see all that," said Cousin George. 

" It is right that I should tell you so ; 
but I trust implicitly to Emily's high 
sense of duty and propriety. And now 
that you are here, George, I trust that 
it may be for your advantage and for 
ours." 

Then he pressed his cousin's hand, if 
not with affection, at least with sincerity. 

" I'm sure it is to be all right now," 
said George, calculating whether he 
would be able to escape to London for 
a few days, so that he might be able to 
arrange that little matter with Mr. Hart. 
They couldn't suppose that he would be 
able to leave London for two years 
without a day's notice ! 

Sir Harry got out of the carriage at 
the front door, and desired Cousin 
George to follow him into the house. 
He turned at once into the small room 
where George had drunk the sherry, 
and desired that Lady Elizabeth might 
be sent to him. 

" My dear," said he, " I have brought 
George back with me. We will do the 
best that we can. Mrs. Quick will have 
a room for him. You had better tell 
Emily, and let her come to me for a 
moment before she sees her cousin." 
This was all said in George's hearing. 
And then Sir Harry went, leaving his 
cousin in the hands of Lady Elizabeth. 



" I am glad to see you back again, 
George," she said, with a melancholy 
voice. 

Cousin George smiled and said that it 
would be "all right." 

" I am sure I hope so, for my girl's 
sake. But there must be a great change, 
George." 

"No end of a change," said Cousin 
George, who was not in the least afraid 
of Lady Elizabeth. 

Many things of moment had to be 
done in the house that day before din- 
ner. In the first place, there was a 
long interview between the father and 
daughter. For a few minutes perhaps 
he was really happy when she was 
kneeling with her arms upon his knees, 
thanking him for what he had done, 
while tears of joy were streaming down 
her cheeks. He could not bring him- 
self to say a word of caution to her. 
Would it not be to paint the snow white 
to caution her as to her conduct ? 

"I have done as you bade me in 
everything," he said. " I have proposed 
to him that he should go to Scarrowby. 
It may be that it will be your home for 
a while, dear." 

She thanked him, and kissed him 
again and again. She would be so 
good. She would do all she could to 
deserve his kindness. And as for 
George — "Pray, papa, don't think that 
I suppose that it can be all done quite 
at once." Nevertheless, it was in that 
direction that her thoughts erred. It 
did seem to her that the hard part of 
the work was already done, and that 
now the pleasant paths of virtue were 
to be trod with happy and persistent 
feet. 

"You had better see him in your 
mother's presence, dearest, before din- 
ner, and then the awkwardness will be 
less afterward." 

She kissed him again, and ran from 
his room up to her mother's apartment, 
taking some back stairs well known to 
herself, lest she should by chance meet 
her lover after some undue and unpre- 
pared fashion. And there she could sit 
down and think of it all ! She would 
be very discreet. He should be made 



9 6 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



to understand at once that the purgation 
must be thorough, the reform complete. 
She would acknowledge her love to 
him, her great and abiding love, but of 
lovers' tenderness there could be but 
little — almost none — till the fire had 
done its work and the gold should have 
been separated from the dross. She had 
had her way so far, and they should find 
that she had deserved it. 

Before dinner Sir Harry wrote a letter 
to his lawyer. The mail-cart passed 
through the village on its way to Pen- 
rith late in the evening, and there was 
time for him to save the post. He 
thought it incumbent on him to let Mr. 
Boltby know that he had changed his 
mind, and though the writing of the 
letter was not an agreeable task, he did 
it at once. He said nothing to Mr. Bolt- 
by directly about his daughter, but he 
made it known to that gentleman that 
Cousin George was at present a guest at 
Humblethwaite, and that he intended to 
pay all the debts, without entering into 
any other specific engagements. Would 
Mr. Boltby have the goodness to make 
out a schedule of the debts ? Captain 
Hotspur should be instructed to give 
Mr. Boltby at once all the necessary 
information by letter. Then Sir Harry 
went on to say that perhaps the opin- 
ions formed in reference to Captain 
Hotspur had been too severe. He was 
ashamed of himself as he wrote these 
words, but still they were written. If 
the blackamoor was to be washed white, 
the washing must be carried out at all 
times, at all seasons and in every pos- 
sible manner, till the world should begin 
to see that the blackness was going out 
of the skin. 

Cousin George was summoned to meet 
the girl who loved him in her mother's 
morning-room before they dressed for 
dinner. He did not know at all in what 
way to conduct himself. He had not 
given a moment's thought to it till the 
difficulty flashed upon him as she 
entered the apartment. But she had 
fully considered it all. She came up 
to him quickly, and gave him her lips 
to kiss, standing there in her mother's 
presence. 



"George," she said, "dear George, I 
am so glad that you are here !" 

It was the first, and it should be the 
last till the fire had done its work — till 
the fire should at least have done so 
much of its work as to make the re- 
mainder easy and fairly sure. He had 
little to say for himself, but muttered 
something about his being the happiest 
fellow in the world. It was a position 
in which a man could hardly behave 
well, and neither the mother nor the 
daughter expected much from him. A 
man cannot bear himself gracefully 
under the weight of a pardon, as a wo- 
man may do. A man chooses generally 
that it shall be assumed by those with 
whom he is closely connected that he 
has done and is doing no wrong, and 
when wronged he professes to forgive 
and to forget in silence. To a woman 
the act of forgiveness, either accepted 
or bestowed, is itself a pleasure. A few 
words were then spoken, mostly by 
Lady Elizabeth, and the three sepa- 
rated to prepare for dinner. 

The next day passed over them at 
Humblethwaite Hall very quietly, but 
with some mild satisfaction. Sir Harry 
told his cousin of the letter to his law- 
yer, and desired George to make out 
and send by that day's post such a 
schedule as might be possible on the 
spur of the moment 

" Hadn't I better run up and see Mr. 
Boltby?" said Cousin George. 

But to this Sir Harry was opposed. 
Let any calls for money reach them 
there. Whatever the calls might be, 
he at any rate could pay them. Cousin 
George repeated his suggestion, but ac- 
quiesced when Sir Harry frowned and 
showed his displeasure. He did make 
out a schedule, and did write a letter to 
Mr. Boltby. 

" I think my debt to Mr. Hart was 
put down as three thousand two hun- 
dred and fifty pounds," he wrote, "but 
I believe I should have added another 
three hundred and fifty pounds for a 
transaction as to which I fancy he does 
not hold my note of hand. But the 
money is due." 

He was fool enough to think that Mr. 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



97 



Walker's claim might be liquidated after 
this fashion. In the afternoon they rode 
together — the father, the daughter and 
the blackamoor — and much was told to 
Cousin George as to the nature of the 
property. The names of the tenants 
were mentioned and the boundaries of 
the farms were pointed out to him. He 
was thinking all the time whether Mr. 
Hart would spare him. 

But Emily Hotspur — though she had 
been thus reticent and quiet in her joy, 
though she was resolved to be discreet, 
and knew that there were circumstances 
in her engagement which would for a 
while deter her from being with her ac- 
cepted lover as other girls are with theirs 
— did not mean to estrange herself from 
her cousin George. If she were to do 
so how was she to assist, and take, as 
she hoped to do, the first part in that 
task of refining the gold on which they 
were all now intent ? She was to cor- 
respond with him when he was at Scar- 
rowby. Such was her present pro- 
gramme, and Sir Harry had made no 
objection when she declared her pur- 
pose. Of course they must understand 
each other, and have communion to- 
gether. On the third day, therefore, it 
was arranged that they two should walk, 
without other company, about the place. 
She must show him her own gardens, 
which were at some distance from the 
house. If the truth be told, it must be 
owned that George somewhat dreaded 
the afternoon's amusement; but there 
was no way of escape, and had she de- 
manded of him to sit down to listen to 
her while she read to him a sermon, he 
would not have refused. 

To be didactic and at the same time 
demonstrative of affection is difficult 
even with mothers toward their chil- 
dren, though with them the assumption 
of authority creates no sense of injury. 
Emily specially desired to point out to 
the erring one the paths of virtue, and 
yet to do so without being oppressive. 
" It is so nice to have you here, George !" 
she said. 

"Yes, indeed: isn't it?" He was 
walking beside her, and as yet they 
were within view of the house. 
7 



"Papa has been so good: isn't he 
good?" 

" Indeed he is. The best man I know 
out," said George, thinking that his grati- 
tude would have been stronger had the 
baronet given him the money and al- 
lowed him to go up' to London to settle 
his own debts. 

" And mamma has been so kind ! 
Mamma is very fond of you. I am 
sure she would do anything for you." 

" And you ?" said George, looking into 
her face. 

" I ! As for me, George, it is a matter 
of course now. You do not want to be 
told again what is and ever must be my 
first interest in the world." 

" I do not care how often you tell me." 

" But you know it, don't you ?" 

" I know what you said at the water- 
fall, Emily." 

" What I said then I said for always. 
You may be sure of that. I told mamma 
so, and papa. If they had not wanted 
me to love you, they should not have 
asked you to come here. I do love you, 
and I hope that some day I may be 
your wife." She was not leaning on his 
arm, but as she spoke she stopped and 
looked steadfastly into his face. He put 
out his hand as though to take hers, 
but she shook her head, refusing it: 
"No, George: come on. I want to talk 
to you a great deal. I want to say ever 
so much now, to-day. I hope that some 
day I may be your wife. If I am not, 
I shall never be any man's wife." 

"What does some day mean, Emily ?" 

"Ever so long — years, perhaps." 

"But why ? A fellow has to be con- 
sulted, you know, as well as yourself. 
What is the use of waiting? I know 
Sir Harry thinks I have been very fond 
of pleasure. How can I better show 
him how willing I am to give it up than 
by marrying and settling down at once ? 
I don't see what's to be got by waiting." 

Of course she must tell him the truth. 
She had no idea of keeping back the 
truth. She loved him with all her heart, 
and was resolved to marry him, but the 
dross must first be purged from the 
gold. "Of course you know, George, 
that papa has made objections." 



9§ 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



" I know he has, but that is over now. 
I am to go and live at Scarrowby at 
once, and have the shooting. He can't 
want me to remain there all by myself." 

"But he does, and so do I." 

"Why?" 

In order that he might be made clean 
by the fire of solitude and the hammer 
of hard work. She could not quite say 
this to him. "You know, George, your 
life has been one of pleasure." 

" I was in the army for some years." 

"But you left it, and you took to go- 
ing to races, and they say that you gam- 
bled and are in debt, and you have been 
reckless. Is not that true, George ?" 

" It is true." 

"And can you wonder that papa 
should be afraid to trust his only child 
and all his property to one who — who 
knows that he has been reckless ? But 
if you can show, for a year or two, that 
you can give up all that — " 

"Wouldn't it be all given up if we 
were married ?" 

"Indeed, I hope so. I should break 
my heart otherwise. But can you won- 
der that papa should wish for some de- 
lay and some proof?" 

"Two years?" 

"Is that much? If I find you doing 
what he wishes, these two years will be 
so happy to me ! We shall come and 
see you, and you will come here. I 
have never liked Scarrowby, because it 
is not pretty, as this place is, but oh 
how I shall like to go there now ! And 
when you are here papa will get to be 
so fond of you. You will be like a real 
son to him. Only you must be steady." 

"Steady! by Jove, yes. A fellow 
will have to be steady at Scarrowby." 
The perfume of the cleanliness of the 
life proposed to him was not sweet to 
his nostrils. 

She did not like this, but she knew 
that she could not have everything at 
once. "You must know," she said, 
"that there is a bargain between me 
and papa. I told him that I should tell 
you everything." 

" Yes ; I ought to be told everything." 

" It is he that shall fix the day. He 
is to do so much that he has a right to 



that. I shall never press him, and you 
must not." 

"Oh, but I shall." 

" It will be of no use ; and, George, I 
won't let you. I shall scold you if you 
do. When he thinks that you have 
learned how to manage the property, 
and that your mind is set upon that 
kind of work, and that there are no 
more races — mind, and no betting — 
then — then he will consent. And I will 
tell you something more, if you would 
like to hear it." 

"Something pleasant, is it?" 
"When he does, and tells me that he 
is not afraid to give me to you, I shall 
be the happiest girl in all England. Is 
that pleasant ? No, George, no : I will 
not have it." 
"Not give me one kiss ?" 
" I gave you one when you came, to 
show you that in truth I loved you. I 
will give you another when papa says 
that everything is right." 
"Not till then?" 

"No, George, not till then. But I 
shall love you just the same. I cannot 
love you better than I do." 

He had nothing for it but to submit, 
and was obliged to be content, during 
the remainder of their long walk, with 
talking of his future life at Scarrowby. 
It was clearly her idea that he should 
be head-farmer, head-steward, head-ac- 
countant and general workman for the 
whole place. When he talked about 
the game, she brought him back to the 
plough — so at least he declared to him- 
self. And he could elicit no sympathy 
from her when he reminded her that the 
nearest meet of hounds was twenty miles 
and more from Scarrowby. "You can 
think of other things for a while," she 
said. He was obliged to say that he 
would, but it did seem to him that Scar- 
rowby was a sort of penal servitude to 
which he was about to be sent with his 
own concurrence. The scent of the 
cleanliness was odious to him. 

" I don't know what I shall do there 
of an evening," he said. 

"Read," she answered: "there are 
lots of books, and you can always have 
the magazines. I will send them to 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



99 



you." It was a very dreary prospect of 
life for him, but he could not tell her 
that it would be absolutely unendurable. 
When their walk was over — a walk 
which she never could forget, however 
long might be her life, so earnest had 
been her purpose — he was left alone, 
and took another stroll by himself. 
How would it suit him ? Was it pos- 
sible ? Could the event "come off?" 
Might it not have been better for him 
had he allowed his other loving friend 
to prepare for him the letter to the 
baronet, in which Sir Harry's munif- 
icent offer would have been accepted ? 
Let us do him the justice to remember 
that he was quite incapable of under- 
standing the misery, the utter ruin, 
which that letter would have entailed 
upon her who loved him so well. He 
knew nothing of such sufferings as 
would have been hers — as must be hers ; 
for had she not already fallen haplessly 
into the pit when she had once allowed 
herself to fix her heart upon a thing so 
base as this ? It might have been better, 
he thought, if that letter had been writ- 
ten. A dim, dull Idea came upon him 
that he was not fit to be this girl's 
husband. He could not find his joys 



where she would find hers. No doubt 
it would be a grand thing to own Hum- 
blethwaite and Scarrowby at some future 
time, but Sir Harry might live for these 
twenty years, and while Sir Harry lived 
he must be a slave. And then he 
thought that upon the whole he liked 
Lucy Morton better than Emily Hotspur. 
He could say what he chose to Lucy, 
and smoke in her presence, own that 
he was fond of drink and obtain some 
sympathy for his "book " on the Derby. 
He began to feel already that he did not 
like sermons from the girl of his heart. 

But he had chosen this side now, and 
he must go on with the game. It 
seemed certain to him that his debts 
would at any rate be paid. He was not 
at all certain how matters might go in 
reference to Mr. Walker, but if matters 
came to the worst, the baronet would 
probably be willing to buy him off again 
with the promised income. Neverthe- 
less, he was not comfortable, and cer- 
tainly did not shine at Sir Harry's table. 
"Why she has loved him, what she has 
seen in him, I cannot tell," said Sir 
Harry to his wife that night. 

We must presume Sir Harry did not 
know how it is that the birds pair. 




t 



IOO 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



PART VIII 



CHAPTER XXII. 

GEORGE HOTSPUR YIELDS. 

ON the morning of Cousin George's 
fourth day at Humblethwaite there 
came a letter for Sir Harry. The post 
reached the Hall about an hour before 
the time at which the family met for 
prayers, and the letters were taken into 
Sir Harry's room. The special letter 
of which mention is here made shall be 
given to the reader entire : 

" , Lincoln's Inn Fields, 24th Nov., 186-. 

"My dear Sir Harry Hotspur : 

" I have received your letter in refer- 
ence to Captain Hotspur's debts, and 
have also received a letter from him, 
and a list of what he says he owes. Of 
course there can be no difficulty in pay- 
ing all debts which he acknowledges, 
if you think proper to do so. So far 
as I am able to judge at present, the 
amount would be between twenty-five 
and thirty thousand pounds. I should 
say nearer the former than the latter 
sum, did I not know that the amount in 
such matters always goes on increasing. 
You must also understand that I cannot 
guarantee the correctness of this state- 
ment. 

" But I feel myself bound in my duty 
to go farther than this, even though it 
may be at the risk of your displeasure. 
I presume from what you tell me that 
you are contemplating a marriage be- 
tween George Hotspur and your daugh- 
ter; and I now repeat to you, in the 
most solemn words that I can use, my 
assurajxce that the marriage is one which 
you should not countenance. Captain 
Hotspur is not fit to marry your daugh- 
ter." 

When Sir Harry had read so far he 
had become very angry, but his anger 
was now directed against his lawyer. 
Had he not told Mr. Boltby that he had 
changed his mind ? and what business 



had the lawyer to interfere with him 
farther ? But he read the letter on to 
its bitter end : 

" Since you were in London the fol- 
lowing facts have become known to me : 
On the second of last month Mr. George 
Hotspur met two men, named Walker 
and Bullbean, in the lodgings of the 
former at about nine in the evening, 
and remained there during the greater 
part of the night playing cards. Bull- 
bean is a man well known to the police 
as a card-sharper. He once moved in 
the world as a gentleman. His trade is 
now to tout and find prey for gamblers. 
Walker is a young man in a low rank 
of life, who had some money. George 
Hotspur on that night won between three 
and four hundred pounds of Walker's 
money, and Bullbean, over and above 
this, got for himself some considerable 
amount of plunder. Walker is now 
prepared and very urgent to bring the 
circumstances of this case before a 
magistrate, having found out or been 
informed that some practice of cheating 
was used against him ; and Bullbean is 
ready to give evidence as to George 
Hotspur's foul play. They have hith- 
erto been restrained by Hart, the Jew 
whom you met. Hart fears that were 
the whole thing made public his bills 
wou.'d not be taken up by you. 

" I think that I know all this to be 
true. If you conceive that I am acting 
in a manner inimical to your family, 
you had better come up to London and 
put yourself into the hands of some 
other lawyer. If you feel that you can 
still trust me, I will do the best I can 
for you. I should recommend you to 
bring Captain Hotspur with you — if he 
will come. 

" I grieve to write as I have done, but 
it seems to me that no sacrifice is too 
great to make with the object of avert- 
ing the fate to which, as I fear, Miss 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



IOI 



Ho'.spur is bringing herself. My dear 
Sir Harry Hotspur, I am very faithfully 
yours, John Boltby." 

It was a terrible letter ! Gradually, 
as he read it and re-read it, there came 
upon Sir Harry the feeling that he might 
owe, that he did owe, that he certainly 
would owe, to Mr. Boltby a very heavy 
debt of gratitude. Gradually the thin 
glazing of hope with which he had man- 
aged to daub over and partly to hide 
his own settled convictions as to his 
cousin's character fell away, and he 
saw the man as he had seen him during 
his interview with Captain Stubber and 
Mr. Hart. It must be so. Let the con- 
sequences be what they might, his 
daughter must be told. Were she to be 
killed by the telling, it would be better 
than that she should be handed over to 
such a man as this. The misfortune 
which had come upon them might be 
the death of him and of her, but better 
that than the other. He sat in his chair 
till the gong sounded through the house 
for prayers : then he rang his bell and 
sent in word to Lady Elizabeth that she 
should read them in his absence. When 
they were over, word was brought that 
he would breakfast alone in his own 
room. On receiving that message both 
his wife and daughter went to him, but 
as yet he could tell them nothing. Tid- 
ings had come which would make it 
necessary that he should go at once to 
London. As soon as breakfast should 
be over he would see George Hotspur. 
They both knew from the tone in which 
the name was pronounced that the 
"tidings" were of their nature bad, and 
that they had reference to the sins of 
their guest. 

"You had better read that letter," he 
said as soon as George was in the room. 
As he spoke his face was toward the fire, 
and in that position he remained. The 
letter had been in his hand, and he only 
half turned round to give it. George 
read the letter slowly, and when he had 
got through it, only half understanding 
the words, but still knowing well the 
charge which it contained, stood silent, 
utterly conquered. "I suppose it is 



true ?" said Sir Harry in a low voice, 
facing his enemy. 

"I did win some money," said Cousin 
George. 

"And you cheated?" 

"Oh dear! no — nothing of the sort." 
But his confession was written in his 
face, and was heard in his voice, and 
peeped out through every motion of his 
limbs. He was a cur, and denied the 
accusation in a currish manner, hardly 
intended to create belief. 

"He must be paid back his money," 
said Sir Harry. 

"I had promised that," said Cousin 
George. 

"Has it been your practice, sir, when 
gambling, to pay back money that you 
have won? You are a scoundrel — a 
heartless scoundrel — to try and make 
your way into my house when I had 
made such liberal offers to buy your 
absence." To this Cousin George made 
no sort of answer. The game was up. 
And had he not already told himself 
that it was a game that he should never 
have attempted to play? "We will 
leave this house if you please, both of 
us, at eleven. We will go to town to- 
gether. The carriage will be ready at 
eleven. You had better see to the 
packing of your things, with the serv- 
ant." 

"Shall I not say a word of adieu to 
Lady Elizabeth?" 

"No, sir! You shall never speak to 
a female in my house again." 

The two were driven over to Penrith 
together, and went up to London in the 
same carriage, Sir Harry paying for all 
expenses without a word. Sir Harry 
before he left his house saw his wife for 
a moment, but he did not see his daugh- 
ter. "Tell her," said he, "that it must 
be — must be all over." The decision 
was told to Emily, but she simply re- 
fused to accept it. " It shall not be so," 
said she, flashing out. Lady Elizabeth 
endeavored to show her that her father 
had done all he could to further her 
views — had been ready to sacrifice to 
her all his own wishes and convictions. 

"Why is he so changed? He has 
heard of some new debt. Of course 



102 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



there are debts. We did not suppose 
that it could be done all at once and so 
easily." She refused to be comforted, 
and refused to believe. She sat alone, 
weeping in her own room, and swore, 
when her mother came to her, that no 
consideration, no tidings as to George's 
past misconduct, should induce her to 
break her faith to the man to whom her 
word had been given — " My word, and 
papa's, and yours," said Emily, plead- 
ing her cause with majesty through her 

tears. \S^-^*~* 

On the day but one following there 
came a letter from Sir Harry to Lady 
Elizabeth, very short, but telling her 
the whole truth : " He has cheated, like 
a common, low swindler as he is, with 
studied tricks at cards, robbing a poor 
man, altogether beneath him in station, 
of hundreds of pounds. There is no 
doubt about it. It is uncertain even yet 
whether he will not be tried before a 
jury. He hardly even denies it. A 
creature viler, more cowardly, worse, 
the mind of man cannot conceive. My 
broken-hearted, dearest, best darling 
must be told all this. Tell her that I 
know what she will suffer. Tell her 
that I shall be as crushed by it as she. 
But anything is better than degradation 
such as this. Tell her specially that I 
have not decided without absolute know- 
ledge." Emily was told. The letter 
was read to her and by her till she 
knew it almost by heart. There came 
upon her a wan look of abject agony 
that seemed to rob her at once of her 
youth and beauty, but even now she 
would not yield. She did no longer 
affect to disbelieve the tidings, but said 
that no man, let him do what he might, 
could be too far gone for repentance and 
forgiveness. She would wait. She had 
talked of waiting two years. She would 
be content to wait ten. What though 
he had cheated at cards ? Had she not 
once told her mother that should it turn 
out that he had been a murderer, then 
she would become a murderer's wife ? 
She did not know that cheating at cards 
was worse than betting at horse-races. 
It was all bad, very bad. It was the 
kind of life into which men were led by 



the fault of those who should have 
taught them better. No, she would not 
marry him without her father's leave, 
but she would never own that her en- 
gagement was broken, let them affix 
what most opprobrious name to him 
they might choose. To her, card-sharp- 
ers seemed to be no worse than gam- 
blers. She was quite sure that Christ 
had come to save men who cheat at 
cards as well as others. 

As Sir Harry and his cousin entered 
the London station late at night — it was 
past midnight — Sir Harry bade his com- 
panion meet him the next morning at 
Mr. Boltby's chambers at eleven. Cousin 
George had had ample time for medita- 
tion, and had considered that it might 
be best for him to "cut up a little rough." 

"Mr. Boltby is my enemy," he said, 
"and I don't know what I am to get by 
going there." 

"If you don't, sir, I'll not pay one 
shilling for you." 

"I have your promise, Sir Harry." 

" If you are not there at the time I fix 
I will pay nothing, and the name may 
go to the dogs." 

Then they both went to the station 
hotel — not. together, but the younger 
following the elder's feet — and slept, for 
the last time in their lives, under one 
roof. 

Cousin George did not show himself 
at Mr. Boltby's, being still in his bed at 
the station hotel at the time named, 
but at three o'clock he was with Mrs. 
Morton. 

For the present we will go back to 
Sir Harry. He was at the lawyer's 
chambers at the time named, and Mr. 
Boltby smiled when told of the sum- 
mons which had been given to Cousin 
George. By this time Sir Harry had 
acknowledged his gratitude to Mr. Bolt- 
by over and over again, and Mr. Boltby 
perhaps, having no daughter, thought 
that the evil had been cured. He was 
almost inclined to be jocular, and did 
laugh at Sir Harry in a mild way when 
told of the threat. 

"We must pay his debts, Sir Harry, 
I think." 

" I don't see it at all. I would rather 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



103 



face everything. And I told him that I 
would pay nothing." 

"Ah, but you had told him that you 
would ! And then those cormorants have 
been told so also. We had better build 
a bridge of gold for a fallen enemy. 
Stick to your former proposition, with- 
out any reference to a legacy, and make 
him write the letter. My clerk shall 
find him to-morrow." 

Sir Harry at last gave way : the lucky 
Walker received back his full money, 
Bullbean's wages of iniquity and all, 
and Sir Harry returned to Humble- 
thwaite. 

Cousin George was sitting in Mrs. 
Morton's room with a very bad head- 
ache five days after his arrival in Lon- 
don, and she was reading over a man- 
uscript which she had just written. 
"That will do, I think," she said. 

"Just the thing," said he, without 
raising his head. 

"Will you copy it now, George ?" she 
asked. 

"Not just now, I am so seedy. I'll 
take it and do it at the club." 

"No, I will not have that. The 
draft would certainly be left out on 
the club table, and you would go to 
billiards, and the letter never would be 
written." 

"I'll come back and do it after din- 
ner." 

" I shall be at the theatre then, and 
I won't have you here in my absence. 
Rouse yourself and do it now. Don't 
be such a poor thing." 

"That's all very well, Lucy, but if 
you had a sick headache you wouldn't 

like to have to write a d d letter 

like that." 

Then she rose up to scold him, being 
determined that the letter should be 
written then and there : " Why, what 
a coward you are ! — what a feckless, 
useless creature ! Do you think that I 
have never to go for hours on the stage, 
with the gas in a blaze around me, and 
my head ready to split ? And what is 
this ? A paper to write that will take 
you ten minutes. The truth is, you 
don't like to give up the girl !" Could 
she believe it of him after knowing him 



so well ? could she think that there was 
so much of good in him ? 

"You say that to annoy me. You 
know I never cared for her." 

" You would marry her now if they 
would let you." 

"No, by George! I've had enough 
of that. You're wide awake enough to 
understand, Lucy, that a fellow situated 
as I am, over head and ears in debt 
and heir to an old title, should struggle 
to keep the things together. Families 
and names don't matter much, I sup- 
pose, but, after all, one does care for 
them. But I've had enough of that. 
As for Cousin Emily — you know, Lucy, 
I never loved any woman but you in 
my life." 

He was a brute, unredeemed by any 
one manly gift — idle, self-indulgent, 
false and without a principle. She 
was a woman greatly gifted, with many 
virtues, capable of self-sacrifice, indus- 
trious, affectionate, and loving truth if 
not always true herself. And yet such 
a word as that from this brute sufficed 
to please her for the moment. She got 
up and kissed his forehead, and dropped 
for him some strong spirit in a glass, 
which she mixed with water, and cooled 
his brow with eau de cologne. "Try to 
write it, dearest. It should be written 
at once if it is to be written." Then he 
turned himself wearily to her writing- 
desk, and copied the words which she 
had prepared for him. 

The letter was addressed to Mr. Bolt- 
by, and purported to be a renunciation 
of all claim to Miss Hotspur's hand, on 
the understanding that his debts were 
paid for him to the extent of twenty-five 
thousand pounds, and that an allow- 
ance were made to him of five hundred 
a year, settled on him as an annuity for 
life so long as he should live out of 
England. Mr. Boltby had given him 
to understand that this clause would not 
be exacted unless circumstances should 
arise which should make Sir Harry think 
it imperative upon him to demand its 
execution. The discretion must be left 
absolute with Sir Harry, but, as Mr. 
Boltby said, Captain Hotspur could 
trust Sir Harry's word and his honor. 



104 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



" If I'm to be made to go abroad, 
what the devil are you to do ?" he had 
said to Mrs. Morton. 

"There need be no circumstances," 
said Mrs. Morton, "to make it neces- 
sary." 

Of course Captain Hotspur accepted 
the terms on her advice. He had 
obeyed Lady Allingham, and had tried 
to obey Emily, and would now obey 
Mrs. Morton, because Mrs. Morton was 
the nearest to him. 

The letter which he copied was a 
well-written letter, put together with 
much taste, so that the ignoble compact 
to which it gave assent should seem to 
be as little ignoble as might be possible. 
"I entered into the arrangement," the 
letter said in its last paragraph, " because 
I thought it right to endeavor to keep 
the property and the title together ; but 
I am aware now that my position in re- 
gard to my debts was of a nature that 
should have deterred me from the at- 
tempt. As I have failed, I sincerely 
hope that my cousin may be made 
happy by some such splendid alliance 
as she is fully entitled to expect." He 
did not understand all that the words 
conveyed ; but yet he questioned them. 
He did not perceive that they were 
intended to imply that the writer had 
never for a moment loved the girl whom 
he had proposed to marry. Neverthe- 
less they did convey to him dimly some 
idea that they might give, not pain — for 
as to that he would have been indifferent 
— but offence. " Will there be any good 
in all that ?" he asked. 

"Certainly," said she. "You don't 
mean to whine and talk of your broken 
heart?" 

" Oh dear ! no — nothing of that sort." 

" This is the manly way to it, regard- 
ing the matter simply as an affair of 
business." 

"I believe it is," said he; and then, 
having picked himself up somewhat by 
the aid of a glass of sherry, he con- 
tinued to copy the letter and to direct it. 

"I will keep the rough draft," said 
Mrs. Morton. 

"And I must go now, I suppose ?" he 
said. 



"You can stay here and see me eat 
my dinner, if you like. I shall not ask 
you to share it, because it consists of two 
small mutton chops, and one wouldn't 
keep me up through Lady Teazle." 

" I've a good mind to come and see 
you," said he. 

" Then you'd better go and eat your 
own dinner at once." 

"I don't care about my dinner. I 
should have a bit of supper afterward." 

Then she preached to him a sermon ; 
not quite such a one as Emily Hotspur 
had preached, but much more practical 
and with less reticence. If he went on 
living as he was living now, he would 
" come to grief." He was drinking every 
day, and would some day find that he 
could not do so with impunity. Did he 
know what delirium tremens was ? Did 
he want to go to the devil altogether ? 
Had he any hope as to his future life ? 

"Yes," said he, "I hope to make you 
my wife." She tossed her head, and 
told him that with all the will in the 
world to sacrifice herself, such sacrifice 
could do him no good if he persisted in 
making himself a drunkard. "But I 
have been so tried these last two months ! 
If you only knew what Mr. Boltby, and 
Captain Stubber, and Sir Harry, and 
Mr. Hart were altogether. Oh, my 
G — !" But he did not say a word 
about Messrs. Walker and Bullbean. 
The poor woman who was helping him 
knew nothing of Walker and Bullbean. 
Let us hope that she may remain in that 
ignorance. 

Cousin George, before he left her, 
swore that he would amend his mode 
of life, but he did not go to see Lady 
Teazle that night. There were plenty 
of men now back in town ready to play 
pool at the club. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 
I SHALL NEVER BE MARRIED. 

Sir Harry Hotspur returned to 
Humblethwaite before Cousin George's 
letter was written, though when he did 
return all the terms had been arranged 
and a portion of the money paid. Per- 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



*°5 



haps it would have been better that he 
should have waited and taken the letter 
with him in his pocket, but in truth he 
was so wretched that he could not wait. 
The thing was fixed and done, and he 
could but hurry home to hide his face 
among his own people. He felt that 
the glory of his house was gone from 
him. He would sit by the hour to- 
gether thinking of the boy who had 
died. He had almost, on occasions, 
allowed himself to forget his boy while 
hoping that his name and wide domains 
might be kept together by the girl that 
was left to him. He was beginning to 
understand now that she was already 
but little better than a wreck. Indeed, 
was not everything shipwreck around 
him ? Was he not going to pieces on 
the rocks ? Did not the lesson of every 
hour seem to tell him that throughout 
his long life he had thought too much 
of his house and his name ? 

It would have been better that he 
should have waited till the letter was in 
his pocket before he returned home, be- 
cause, when he reached Humblethwaite, 
the last argument was wanting to him 
to prove to Emily that her hope was 
vain. Even after his arrival, when the 
full story was told to her, she held out 
in her resolve. She accepted the truth 
of that scene at Walker's rooms. She 
acknowledged that her lover had cheat- 
ed the wretched man at cards. After 
that all other iniquities were of course 
as nothing. There was a completeness 
in that of which she did not fail to ac- 
cept and to use the benefit. When she 
had once taken it as true that her lover 
had robbed his inferior by foul play at 
cards, there could be no good in allud- 
ing to this or that lie, in counting up 
this or that disreputable debt, in allud- 
ing to habits of brandy-drinking, or 
even in soiling her pure mind with any 
word as to Mrs. Morton. It was grant- 
ed that he was as vile as sin could 
make him. Had not her Saviour come 
exactly for such as this one, because of 
His great love for those who were vile ? 
and should not her human love for one 
enable her to do that which His great 
heavenly love did always for all men ? 



Every reader will know how easily an- 
swerable was the argument. Most read- 
ers will also know how hard it is to win 
by attacking the reason when the heart 
is the fortress that is in question. She 
had accepted his guilt, and why tell her 
of it any further ? Did she not pine 
over his guilt, and weep for it day and 
night, and pray that he might yet be 
made white as snow ? But guilty as he 
was, a poor piece of broken, vilest clay, 
without the properties even which are 
useful to the potter, he was as dear to 
her as when she had leaned against 
him believing him to be a pillar of gold 
set about with onyx stones, jaspers and 
rubies. There was but one sin on his 
part which could divide them. If, in- 
deed, he should cease to love her, then 
there would be an end of it ! It would 
have been better that Sir Harry should 
have remained in London till he could 
have returned with George's autograph 
letter in his pocket. 

"You must have the letter in his own 
handwriting," Mr. Boltby had said, cun- 
ningly ; "only you must return it to me." 

Sir Harry had understood, and had 
promised that the letter should be re- 
turned when it had been used for the 
cruel purpose for which it was to be 
sent to Humblethwaite. For all Sir 
Harry's own purposes Mr. Boltby's 
statements would have quite sufficed. 

She was told that her lover would re- 
nounce her, but she would not believe 
what she was told. Of course he would 
accept the payment of his debts. Of 
course he would take an income when 
offered to him. What else was he to do ? 
How was he to live decently without an 
income ? All these evils had happened 
to him because he had been expected 
to live as a gentleman without proper 
means. In fact, he was the person who 
had been most injured. Her father, in 
his complete, in his almost abject ten- 
derness toward her, could not say rough 
words in answer to all these arguments. 
He could only repeat his assertion over 
and over again that the man was utterly 
unworthy of her, and must be discarded. 
It was all as nothing. The man must 
discard himself. 



io6 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



" He is false as hell !" said Sir Harry. 

" And am I to be as false as hell also ? 
Will you love me better when I have 
consented to be untrue ? And even 
that would be a lie. I do love him — I 
must love him. I may be more wicked 
than he is because I do so, but I do." 

Poor Lady Elizabeth in these days 
was worse than useless. Her daughter 
was so strong that her weakness was as 
the weakness of water. She was driven 
hither and thither in a way that she her- 
self felt to be disgraceful. When her 
husband told her that the cousin, as a 
matter of course, could never be seen 
again, she assented. When Emily im- 
plored her to act as mediator with her 
father on behalf of the wicked cousin, 
she again assented. And then, when 
she was alone with Sir Harry, the poor 
mother did not dare to do as she had 
promised. 

"I do think it will kill her," she said 
to Sir Harry. 

"We must all die, but we need not 
die disgraced," he said. vy v *->^ ,s ««____ 

It was a most solemn answer, and 
told the thoughts which had been dwell- 
ing in his mind. His son had gone 
from him, and now it might be that his 
daughter must go too, because she could 
not survive the disappointment of her 
young love. He had learned to think 
that it might be so as he looked at her 
great grave eyes, and her pale cheeks, 
and her sorrow-laden mouth. It might 
be so, but better that for them all than 
that she should be contaminated by the 
touch of a thing so vile as this cousin. 
She was pure as snow, clear as a star, 
lovely as the opening rosebud. As she 
was let her go to her grave, if it need 
be so. For himself, he could die too, 
or even live if it were required of him. 
Other fathers, since Jephthah and Aga- 
memnon, have recognized it as true 
that Heaven has demanded from them 
their daughters. 

The letter came, and was read and 
re-read by Sir Harry before he showed 
it to his child. He took it also to his 
wife, and explained it to her in all its 
points. " It has more craft," said he, 
"than I gave him credit for." 



"I don't suppose he ever cared for 
her," said Lady Elizabeth. 

" Nor for any human being that ever 
lived — save himself. I wonder whether 
he got Boltby to write it for him ?" 

"Surely Mr. Boltby wouldn't have 
done that." 

" I don't know. I think he would do 
anything to rid us from what he be- 
lieved to have been our danger. I 
don't think it was in George Hotspur 
to write such a letter out of his own 
head." 

"But does it signify ?" 

" Not in the least. It is his own hand- 
writing and his signature. Whoever 
formed the words, it is the same thing. 
It was needed only to prove to her that 
he had not even the merit of being true 
to her." 

For a while Sir Harry thought that 
he would entrust to his wife the duty 
of showing the letter to Emily. He 
would so willingly have escaped the 
task himself! But, as he considered the 
matter, he feared that Lady Elizabeth 
might lack the firmness to explain the 
matter fully to the poor girl. The 
daughter would be so much stronger 
than the mother, and thus the thing 
that must be done would not be ef- 
fected. At last, on the evening of the 
day on which the letter had reached 
him, he sent for her and read it to her. 
She heard it without a word. Then he 
put it into her hands, and she read the 
sentences herself, slowly, one after an- 
other, endeavoring as she did so to find 
arguments by which she might stave 
off the conclusion to which she knew 
that her father would attempt to bring 
her. 

" It must be all over now," said he at 
last. 

She did not answer him, but gazed 
into his face with such a look of woe 
that his heart was melted. She had 
found no argument. There had not 
been in the whole letter one word of 
love for her. 

" My darling, will it not be better that 
we should meet the blow ?" 

" I have met it all along. Some day, 
perhaps, he might be different." 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBIETHWAITE. 



io 1 ; 



" In what way, dearest ? He does not 
even profess to hope so himself." 

"That gentleman in London, papa, 
would have paid nothing for him unless 
he wrote like this. He had to do it. 
Papa, you had better just leave me to 
myself. I will not trouble you by men- 
tioning his name." 

"But, Emily — " 

"Well, papa?" 

"Mamma and I cannot bear that you 
should suffer alone." 

"I must suffer, and silence is the 
easiest. I will go now and think about 
it. Dear papa, I know that you have 
always done everything for the best." 

He did not see her again that even- 
ing. Her mother was with her in her 
own room, and of course they were 
talking about Cousin George for hours 
together. It could not be avoided, in 
spite of what Emily had herself said of 
the expediency of silence. But she did 
not once allude to the possibility of a 
future marriage. As the man was so 
dear to her, and as he bore their name, 
and as he must inherit her father's title, 
could not some almost superhuman ex- 
ertion be made for his salvation ? Sure- 
ly so much as that might be done if 
they all made it the work of their lives. 

" It must be the work of my life, mam- 
ma," she said. 

Lady Elizabeth forbore from telling 
her that there was no side on which she 
could approach him. The poor girl 
herself, however, must have felt that it 
was so. As she thought of it all, she 
reminded herself that, though they were 
separated miles asunder, still she could 
pray for him. We need not doubt this 
at least — that to him who utters them 
prayers of intercession are of avail. 

On the following morning she was 
at breakfast, and both her father and 
mother remarked that something had 
been changed in her dress. The father 
only knew that it was so, but the moth- 
er could have told of every ribbon that 
had been dropped and every ornament 
that had been laid aside. Emily Hot- 
spur had lived a while if not among 
the gayest of the gay, at least among 
the brightest of the bright in outside 



garniture, and, having been asked to 
consult no questions of expense, had 
taught herself to dress as do the gay 
and bright and rich. Even when George 
had come on his last wretched visit to 
Humblethwaite, when she had known 
that he had been brought there as a 
blackamoor perhaps just capable of be- 
ing washed white, she had not thought 
it necessary to lessen the gauds of her 
attire. Though she was saddened in 
her joy by the knowledge of the man's 
faults, she was still the rich daughter of 
a very wealthy man, and engaged to 
marry the future inheritor of all that 
wealth and riches. There was then no 
reason why she should lower her flag 
one inch before the world. But now 
all was changed with her. During the 
night she had thought of her apparel, 
and of what use it might be during her 
future life. She would never more go 
bright again, unless some miracle might 
prevail and he still might be to her that 
which she had painted him. Neither 
father nor mother, as she kissed them 
both, said a word as to her appearance. 
They must take her away from Hum- 
blethwaite, change the scene, try to in- 
terest her in new pursuits : that was 
what they had determined to attempt. 
Eor the present, they would let her put 
on what clothes she pleased, and make 
no remark. 

Early in the day she went out by 
herself. It was now December, but the 
weather was fine and dry, and she was 
for two hours alone, rambling through 
the park. She had made her attempt 
in life, and had failed. She owned her 
failure to herself absolutely. The image 
had no gold in it — none as yet. But it 
was not as other images, which, as they 
are made, so they must remain to the 
end. The Divine Spirit, which might 
from the first have breathed into this 
clay some particle of its own worth, was 
still efficacious to bestow the gift. Prayer 
should not be wanting, but the thing as 
it now was she saw in all its impurity. 
He had never loved her. Had he loved 
her he would not have written words 
such as those she had read. He had 
pretended to love her in order that he 



io8 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



might have money, that his debts might 
be paid, that he might not be ruined. 
"He hoped," he said in his letter — "he 
hoped that his cousin might be made 
happy by a splendid alliance." She re- 
membered well the abominable, heart- 
less words. And this was the man who 
had pledged her to truth and firmness, 
and whose own truth and firmness she 
had never doubted for a moment, even 
when acknowledging to herself the ne- 
cessity of her pledge to him ! He had 
never loved her ; and though she did 
not say so, did not think so, she felt that 
of all his sins that sin was the one which 
could not be forgiven. 

What should she now do with herself 
— how bear herself at this present mo- 
ment of her life ? She did not tell her- 
self now that she would die, though as 
she looked forward into life all was so 
dreary to her that she would fain have 
known that death would give an escape. 
But there were duties for her still to do { 
During that winter ramble she owned to 
herself for the first time that her father 
had been right in his judgment respect- 
ing their cousin, and that she, by her 
pertinacity, had driven her father on till 
on her account he had been forced into 
conduct which was distasteful to him. 
She must own to her father that he had 
been right — that the man, though she 
dearly loved him still, was of such na- 
ture that it would be quite unfit that she 
should marry him. There might still 
be the miracle : her prayers were still 
her own to give — of them she would say 
nothing to her father. She would sim- 
ply confess to him that he had been 
right, and then beg of him to pardon 
her the trouble she had caused him. 

" Papa," she said to him the following 
morning, "may I come to you?" She 
came in, and on this occasion sat down 
at his right hand. " Of course you have 
been right, papa," she said. 

"We have both been right, dearest, I 
hope." 

" No, papa : I have been wrong. I 
thought I knew him, and I did not. I 
thought when you told me that he was 
so bad that you were believing false 
people ; and, papa, I know now that I 



should not have loved him as I did — so 
quickly, like that." 

" Nobody has blamed you for a mo- 
ment. Nobody has thought of blaming 
you." 

" I blame myself enough : I can tell 
you that. I feel as though I had in a 
way destroyed myself." 

" Do not say that, my darling." 

" You will let me speak now, will you 
not, papa ? I wish to tell you every- 
thing, that you may understand all that 
I feel. I shall never get over it." 

"You will, dearest — you will, in- 
deed !" 

" Never ! Perhaps I shall live on, but 
I feel that it has killed me for this world. 
I don't know how a girl is to get over it 
when she has said that she has loved 
any one. If they are married, then she 
does not want to get over it, but if they 
are not — if he deserts her or is un- 
worthy, or both — what can she do then 
but just go on thinking of it till she 
dies ?" 

Sir Harry used with her all the old, 
accustomed arguments to drive such 
thoughts out of her head. He told her 
how good was God to His creatures, 
and, specially, how good in curing by 
the soft hand of Time such wounds as 
those from which she was suffering. 
She should "retrick her beams" and 
once more "flame in the forehead of the 
morning sky," if only she would help 
the work of Time by her own endeavors. 
"Fight against the feeling, Emily, and 
try to conquer it, and it will be con- 
quered." 

" But, papa, I do not wish to conquer 
it. I should not tell you of all this, only 
for one thing." 

"What thing, dearest?" 

"I am not like other girls, who can 
just leave themselves alone and be of 
no trouble. You told me that if I out 
lived you — " 

" The property will be yours, certain^ 
ly. Of course, it was my hope, and is, 
that all that shall be settled by your 
marriage before my death. The trou- 
ble and labor are more than a woman 
should be called on to support alone." 

"Just so. And it is because you are 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



109 



thinking of all this that I feel it right 
to tell you. Papa, I shall never be 
married." 

"We will leave that for the present, 
Emily." 

" Very well ; only if it would make a 
change in your will, you should make 
it. You will have to be here, papa, 
after I am gone, probably." 

"No, no, no !" 

"But if it were not so I should not 
know what to do. That is all, papa ; 
only this, that I beg your pardon for 
all the trouble I have caused you." 
Then she knelt before him, and he 
kissed her forehead and blessed her 
and wept over her. 

There was nothing more heard from 
Cousin George at Humblethwaite, and 
nothing more heard of him for a long 
time. Mr. Boltby did pay his debts, 
having some terribly hard struggles with 
Mr. Hart and Captain Stubber before the 
liquidations were satisfactorily effected. 
It was very hard to make Mr. Hart and 
Captain Stubber understand that the 
baronet was paying these debts simply 
because he had said that he would pay 
them, once before, under other circum- 
stances, and that no other cause for 
their actual payment now existed. But 
the debts were paid, down to the last 
farthing of which Mr. Boltby could 
have credible tidings. "Pay every- 
thing," Sir Harry had said: "I have 
promised it." Whereby he was alluding 
to the promise which he had made to 
his daughter. Everything was paid, 
and Cousin George was able to walk in 
and out of his club a free man, and at 
times almost happy, with an annuity 
of five hundred pounds. Nothing more 
was said to him as to the necessity of 
expatriation. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 
THE END. 

Among playgoing folk, in the follow- 
ing April, there was a great deal of talk 
about the marriage of that very favorite 
actress, Mrs. Morton. She appeared in 
the playbills as Mrs. George Hotspur, 



late Mrs. Morton. Very many spoke 
of her familiarly who knew her only on 
the stage — as is the custom of men in 
speaking of actresses — and perhaps 
some few of those who spoke of her did 
know her personally. "Poor Lucy!" 
said one middle-aged gentleman over 
fifty, who spent four nights of every 
week at one theatre or another. " When 
she was little more than a child they 
married her to that reprobate Morton. 
Since that she has managed to keep 
her head above water by hard work ; 
and now she has gone and married an- 
other worse than the first!" 

" She is older now, and will be able 
to manage George," said another. 

" Manage him ! If anybody can man- 
age to keep him out of debt, or from 
drink either, I'll eat him." 

" But he must be Sir George when old 
Sir Harry dies," said he who was de- 
fending the prudence of the marriage. 

"Yes, and won't have a penny. Will 
it help her to be able to put ' Lady Hot- 
spur' on the bills? Not in the least. 
And the women can't forgive her and 
visit her. She has not been good enough 
for that. A grand old family has been 
disgraced and a good actress destroyed. 
That's my idea of this marriage." 

" I thought George was going to mar- 
ry his cousin, that awfully proud minx ?' ' 
said one young fellow. 

"When it came to the scratch she 
would not have him," said another. 
"But there had been promises, and so, 
to make it all square, Sir Harry paid 
his debts." 

" I don't believe a bit about his debts 
being paid," said the middle-aged gen- 
tleman who was fond of going to the 
theatre. 

Yes, George Hotspur was married, 
and, as far as any love went with him, 
had married the women he liked best. 
Though the actress was worlds too good 
for him, there was not about her that 
air of cleanliness and almost severe 
purity which had so distressed him 
while he had been forced to move in 
the atmosphere of his cousin. After 
the copying of the letter and the settle- 
ment of the bills, Mrs. Morton had 



no 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLE THWAITE. 



found no difficulty in arranging matters 
as she pleased. She had known the 
man better perhaps than any one else 
had known him, and yet she thought it 
best to marry him. We must not in- 
quire into her motives, though we may 
pity her fate. 

She did not intend, however, to yield 
herself as an easy prey to his selfishness. 
She had also her ideas of reforming him 
— ideas which, as they were much less 
grand, might possibly be more service- 
able, than those which for a while had 
rilled the mind and heart of Emily Hot- 
spur. "George," she said one day to 
him, "what do you mean to do ?" This 
was before the marriage was fixed — 
when nothing more was fixed than that 
idea of marriage which had long existed 
between them. 

"Of course we shall be spliced now," 
said he. 

" And if so, what then ? I shall keep 
to the stage, of course." 

"We couldn't do with the five hun- 
dred a year, I suppose, anyhow ?"/^*^i 

" Not very well, I'm afraid, seeing 
that as a habit you eat and drink more 
than that yourself. But, with all that 
I can do, there must be a change. I 
tell you, for your own sake as well as for 
mine, unless you can drop drinking we 
had better give it up even yet." After 
that, for a month or two, under her 
auspices, he did "drop it," or at least 
so far dropped it as to induce her to run 
the risk. In April they were married, 
and she must be added to the list of 
women who have sacrificed themselves 
on behalf of men whom they have 
known to be worthless. We need not 
pursue his career farther, but we may 
be sure that though she watched him 
very closely, and used a power over 
him of which he was afraid, still he went 
gradually from bad to worse, and was 
found at last to be utterly past redemp- 
tion. He was one who in early life had 
never known what it was to take delight 
in postponing himself to another, and 
now there was no spark in him of love 
or gratitude by which fire could be 
kindled or warmth created. It had 
come to that with him that to eat and 



to drink was all that was left to him ; 
and it was coming to that, too, that the 
latter of these two pleasant recreations 
would soon be all that he had within 
his power of enjoyment. There are 
such men, and of all human beings they 
are the most to be pitied. They have 
intellects ; they do think ; the hours 
with them are terribly long ; and they 
have no hope ! 

The Hotspurs of Humblethwaite re- 
mained at home till Christmas was 
passed, and then at once started for 
Rome. Sir Harry and Lady Elizabeth 
both felt that it must be infinitely better 
for their girl to be away ; and then there 
came the doctor's slow advice. There 
was nothing radically amiss with Miss 
Hotspur, the doctor said, but it would 
be better for her to be taken elsewhere. 
She, knowing how her father loved his 
home and the people around him, 
begged that she might be allowed to 
stay. Nothing ailed her, she said, save 
only that ache at the heart which no 
journey to Rome could cure. "What's 
the use of it, papa?" she said. "You 
are unhappy because I'm altered. Would 
you wish me not to be altered after what 
has passed ? Of course I am altered. 
Let us take it as it is, and not think 
about it." 

Emily had adopted certain practices 
in life, however, which Sir Harry was 
determined to check, at any rate for 
the time. She spent her days among 
the poor, and when not with them she 
was at church. And there was always 
some dreary book in her hands when 
they were together in the drawing-room 
after dinner. Of church -going, and 
visiting the poor, and of good books 
Sir Harry approved thoroughly, but 
even of good things such as these there 
may be too much. So Sir Harry and 
Lady Elizabeth got a courier who spoke 
all languages, and a footman who spoke 
German, and two maids, of whom one 
pretended to speak French, and had 
trunks packed without number, and 
started for Rome. All that wealth 
could do was done ; but let the horse- 
man be ever so rich, or the horseman's 
daughter, and the stud be ever so good, 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBIETHWAITE. 



Ill 



it is seldom they can ride fast enough 
to shake off their cares. 

In Rome they remained till April, 
and while they were there the name of 
Cousin George was never once men- 
tioned in the hearing of Sir Harry. Be- 
tween the mother and daughter no doubt 
there was speech concerning him. But 
to Emily's mind he was always present. 
He was to her as a thing abominable, 
and yet necessarily tied to her by bonds 
which she could never burst asunder. 
She felt like some poor princess in a 
tale, married to an ogre from whom 
there was no escape. She had given 
herself up to one utterly worthless, and 
she knew it. But yet she had given 
herself, and could not revoke the gift. 
There was, indeed, still left to her that 
possibility of a miracle, but of that she 
whispered nothing even to her mother. 
If there were to be a miracle, it must be 
of God ; and at God's throne she made 
her whispers. In these days she was 
taken about from sight to sight with ap- 
parent willingness. She saw churches, 
pictures, statues and ruins, and seemed 
to take an interest in them. She was 
introduced to the Pope, and allowed 
herself to be appareled in her very best 
for that august occasion. But neverthe- 
less the tenor of her way and the fash- 
ions of her life, as was her daily dress, 
were gray and sad and solemn. She 
lived as one who knew that the back- 
bone of her life was broken. Early in 
April they left Rome and went north to 
the Italian lakes, and settled themselves 
for a while at Lugano. And here the 
news reached them of the marriage of 
George Hotspur. 

Lady Elizabeth read the marriage 
among the advertisements in the Times, 
and at once took it to Sir Harry, with- 
drawing the paper from the room in a 
manner which made Emily sure that 
there was something in it which she 
was not intended to see. But Sir Harry 
thought that the news should be told to 
her, and he himself told it. 

"Already married!" she said. "And 
who is the lady ?" 

"You had better not ask, my dear," 
he answered. 



"Why not ask? I may, at any rate, 
know her name." 

"Mrs. Morton. She was a widow — 
and an actress." 

"Oh yes, I know," said Emily, blush- 
ing ; for in those days in which it had 
been sought to wean her from George 
Hotspur, a word or two about this lady 
had been said to her by Lady Elizabeth 
under the instructions of Sir Harry. 
And there was no more said on that 
occasion. On that day and on the fol- 
lowing her father observed no change 
in her, and the mother spoke nothing 
of her fears. But on the next morning 
Lady Elizabeth said that she was not as 
she had been. " She is thinking of him 
still — always," she whispered to her 
husband. He made no reply, but sat 
alone out in the garden, with his news- 
paper before him, reading nothing, but 
cursing that cousin of his in his heart. 

There could be no miracle now for 
her ! Even the thought of that was 
gone. The man who had made her be- 
lieve that he loved her, only in the last 
autumn — though indeed it seemed to 
her that years had rolled over since, and 
made her old, worn-out and weary — 
who ha!d asked for and obtained the one 
gift she had to give, the bestowal of her 
very self — who had made her in her 
baby folly believe that he was almost 
divine, whereas he was hardly human 
in his lowness, — this man, whom she 
still loved in a way which she could not 
herself understand, loving and despising 
him utterly at the same time, was now 
the husband of another woman ! Even 
he, she had felt, would have thought 
something of her. But she had been 
nothing to him but the means of escape 
from disreputable difficulties. She could 
not sustain her contempt for herself as 
she remembered this, and yet she showed 
but little of it in her outward manner. 

"I'll go when you like, papa," she 
said when the days of May had come, 
"but I'd sooner stay here a little longer 
if you wouldn't mind." There was no 
talk of going home. It was only a ques- 
tion whether they should go farther 
north, to Lucerne, before the warm 
weather came. 



SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. 



" Of course we will remain : why not ?" 
said Sir Harry. "Mamma and I like 
Lugano amazingly." Poor Sir Harry ! 
As though he could have liked any 
place except Humblethwaite ! 

Our story is over now. They did 
remain till the scorching July sun had 
passed over their heads, and August 
was upon them ; and then — they had 
buried her in the small Protestant cem- 
etery at Lugano, and Sir Harry Hot- 
spur was without a child and without an 
heir. 

He returned home in the early au- 
tumn, a gray, worn-out, tottering old 
man, with large eyes full of sorrow, and 
a thin mouth that was seldom opened to 
utter a word. In these days, I think, 
he recurred to his early sorrow, and 



thought almost more of his son than of 
his daughter. But he had instant, press- 
ing energy left to him for one deed. 
Were he to die now without a further 
will, Humblethwaite and Scarrowby 
would go to the wretch who had de- 
stroyed him. What was the title to him 
now, or even the name ? His wife's 
nephew was an earl with an enormous 
rent-roll, something so large that Hum- 
blethwaite and Scarrowby to him would 
be but little more than additional labor. 
But to this young man Humblethwaite 
and Scarrowby were left, and the glo- 
ries of the House of Hotspur were at an 
end. 

And so the story of the House of 
Humblethwaite has been told. 




